Ten Things We Did (And Probably Shouldn't Have) (3 page)

Holy crap. Was he kidding? A thousand dollars a month? I knew my dad’s job paid well . . . but that sounded like a lot of money.

He laughed at the surprise on my face. “It’s not just for overpriced jeans, April. It’s for rent, food, books, school lunches, entertainment, gas . . .”

“Gas? For what?” Wait. “Am I getting a car?” I squealed.

He squeezed my shoulder again. “It wouldn’t be fair for you to have to rely on Violet and Suzanne for transportation.”

“Yes! Yes! Thank you thank you thank you thank you!” I jumped out of my chair and threw my arms around him.

“Don’t thank me.” He kissed me on the forehead. “Thank Penny. She doesn’t think you should have to depend on other people to get around. She offered to leave her car here for you,” he said, glowing. “I’ll get her something new in Ohio.” My dad was always trying to prove to me how much Penny cared about me. But if she cared that much, she probably wouldn’t be dragging my dad off to Cleveland.

Still. If she could give, I could give.

“Thank you, Penny,” I said, and I honestly didn’t care if she got a new car and I ended up with the ten-year-old Honda she’d had since before she married my dad. I was lucky to get any car. Even one that was bright yellow and reeked of disinfectant wipes. At least it was clean.

My own car! My own money-stocked bank account! My very own basement. With walls adjacent to no one! I felt like the luckiest girl in the world, and if I felt that twinge of guilt, well, I pushed it away. Far away. Like, to Cleveland.

“I expect you to send me a budget every month, tracking how your money is being spent. It will be an excellent learning experience for you. You’re going to have to learn to be practical.”

“Budget it is. So that’s it?” I asked, feet dancing. “We’re all set?”

“You’re all set.”

After my dad finally left the room, I opened my laptop to see if Noah had responded, but he hadn’t. I knew he’d be disappointed that tonight would not be
the
night, but he’d cheer up when he heard the news. I hadn’t told him anything about Cleveland or Vi’s house yet. I had wanted to get it all sorted first because I hadn’t wanted to worry him for no reason. Like father, like daughter, I guess.

I spun my chair back and forth. I couldn’t believe it was all happening. That my dad was letting me stay. My dad had asked Suzanne to get together in person, but Vi had told him that they were off to L.A. for the rest of the holidays, but that they’d be back in time for the move and would talk in person then.

I couldn’t believe he was letting me stay so easily. If I were a parent, I would . . . well, I don’t know what I’d do. I know I’d never get divorced. Not that I can blame my father for that. But still. When I get married I’m going to make the marriage work.

Getting married is forever, no matter what my spouse does.

YOU SAY POTATO, I SAY PROPOSAL

“I like being a couch potato,” I told Noah.

It was a Saturday, a year earlier, January of sophomore year. Outside it was freezing—it hurt to breathe. We were in his basement, on his brown suede couch, under an afghan. I was cuddled in the nook of his arm. His fleece sweater was soft against my cheek. Noah and I hadn’t moved in two hours.

He played with a strand of my hair. “Let’s stay here forever.”

“We may have to eat eventually,” I said.

“We’ll order in.”

“We’d have to get the door.” I made walking motions with my fingers.

“My parents will answer it and bring the food to us.”

“What about school?” I asked, closing my eyes.

“We’ll homeschool.”

“My dad might wonder where I am.”

“Tell him we ran off and got married.”

I laughed. “He likes you, but not that much.”

He pulled me tight. “Could you imagine?”

My heart stopped. I opened my eyes. “Running off and getting married?”

“Yeah.” He turned to face me. “I could spend every day with you. Right here. On the couch.”

My whole body felt warm. Safe. Loved. I traced my finger from his nose to his chin. “I love you,” I said. Part of me could do it. Run off and get married. But another part . . . another part of me wondered if I could really trust anyone. If
anyone
could really trust anyone. If all relationships were doomed.

I couldn’t say this to Noah, though.

“But . . . there is the small fact that we’re fifteen,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

“So?” His eyes lit up. “I love you too. That’s why we should do it. It would be fun! And exciting!”

“And illegal. I think you have to be eighteen to get married.” I lifted my hands above me to stretch. “We’d also have to get off the couch.”

He pressed his hand flat against mine. “I bet we could get a rabbi to come here.”

“I’m not sure I could get married in yoga pants. Maybe if they were white instead of black.”

“Fair enough.” He kissed me on the forehead. “I really would do it, you know.”

I snuggled into the softness of his fleece. “So would I,” I murmured, not wanting to let go.

TELLING NOAH THE NEWS

“You’re not going to believe what’s happening,” I said the second I got into Noah’s car.

His dark hair was damp and wavy, just the way I loved it. Tonight he was wearing gray jeans and his puffy neon-yellow jacket that somehow looked cool on him. He was thin and self-conscious about his body—even though he didn’t need to be—and liked to look bigger. He gave me a big kiss on the lips. “Let me guess. You’re going to seduce me in the backseat?”

“Ha, ha, ha,” I said. “No. Sorry. I can’t deal with sex tonight. My life is too crazy.”

“Okay,” he said, sounding confused and a little disappointed.

“So yesterday, my dad sits me down and tells me that we’re all moving to Cleveland. Cleveland! Not as far as France, but seriously. What is wrong with my parents?”

His smile drooped. “You’re leaving?”

“Do you think I’d leave you? No way.” I reached over and traced my finger over his knee. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“So they’re not moving?”

“No. They are. But they’re letting me stay with Vi!’”

“Vi?” He looked kind of shocked.

“Yes!”

“You’re moving in with Vi?”

“Yes!”

“What about your dad and Penny?”

“They’re leaving!”

“And leaving you with Vi. For how long?”

“For the rest of the school year. At least the rest of the school year. I’m staying in Westport!”

“You’re staying in Westport . . . because of me?”

“Yes!” Wait. Kind of. I had been kidding, but now I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “Mostly you. But also Marissa and school and . . . you know. My life is here.”

His mouth fell open. “Wow.”

“I know! I’m going to live with Vi!”

He cocked his head to the side. “April, I know you think Vi is God incarnate—”

Huh? “I do not.”

“Yeah. You do. But she’s kind of intense. Are you sure you want to live with her?”

“Yes,” I snapped. “She’s one of my best friends. And anyway, I don’t have that many options here.”

“Isn’t Vi’s mom kind of a weirdo?” Noah asked.

“No, she’s cool, but that doesn’t even matter. Because that’s the craziest part. She won’t be there. She’s moving to Chicago for a while. And then Tampa or something. Although my dad doesn’t know that.”

He shook his head in bewilderment. “Huh?”

I explained it all, my excitement building.

“So it’s just you and Vi?” he said when I finished.

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s . . . amazing,” he said, green eyes wide.

“I know.”

“When are your dad and Penny leaving? When are you moving in with Vi?”

“January third, probably. The day you get back.” I hated that he was going away. I hated that he was going over New Year’s. He always left me over New Year’s.

“This is all insane,” he said, putting his arm around me. “But I still don’t get why we can’t have sex in your house tonight.”

I rolled my eyes. “Because I’m freaked out. Because if for some reason my parents caught us, they would force me to move to Cleveland and I would never see you again. Because in eight days we will have a whole basement to ourselves.”

He smiled. “A whole basement, huh? So we can do it anywhere in the basement?”

“Yes. But we’ll probably do it on the bed.” I pulled him by his jacket toward me, and kissed him. His lips were soft. Familiar. I kissed him again, harder, then pulled away. “We can still visit your backseat tonight. Just no sex. And not in front of my house. Can’t risk my parents taking me away from you.”

He took my hand. “Drive, then burger?”

“Let’s do it. Well, not
it
. Love you!” I chirped, and blew him a kiss.

“So you keep telling me,” he said in that way that sounded like a joke but I could tell wasn’t.

I blinked. “I do!” Could he really think the reason I was putting off sex was because I didn’t love him?

“I
know
you love me.” He shook his head. “I love you too.”

“Eight days and I’m all yours,” I said.

He nodded and put the car into
DRIVE
.

THE FIVE-STEP PROCESS TO LYING TO PARENTS

1. Create two fake pmail accounts.

2. Give Suzanne’s fake pmail address to Jake.

3. Give Jake’s fake pmail address to Suzanne.

4. Keep emails brief. Include vague details.

5. Get away with it.

EMAILS BETWEEN THE REAL JAKE BERMAN AND THE FAKE SUZANNE CALDWELL

From: Jake Berman

Date: Fri, 26 Dec, 3:10 p.m.

To: Suzanne Caldwell

Subject: Contact Information

Suzanne,

Here is my contact information: You can reach me anytime via email or on my cell, 203-555-3939. I can’t thank you enough for taking April in this semester. With everything that’s happened in the last few years, I think she feels very tied to Westport and her life here, so I understand why she’s so reluctant to leave. I’m glad to have found this solution. I’ll deposit money into April’s bank account by the first of every month, and she will give you four hundred dollars cash for rent and groceries. Thanks, also, for ensuring she follows my rules—especially obeying her curfew (10 p.m.). It’s a dangerous world. And as we know, teenagers need structure.

Best, Jake

Sent From BlackBerry

_______

From: Suzanne Caldwell

Date: Sat, 27 Dec, 12:15
P.M.

To: Jake Berman

Subject: RE: Contact Information

Dear Jake,

April is a delight; we’re truly happy to have her. And don’t worry about a thing. If she’s ever home even a minute after ten, I will contact you ASAP. However, just so you know, cell phone use is discouraged at the theater—if you have any questions or concerns, the best and fastest way to reach me is via email.

Best of luck with your move to Cleveland,

Suzanne

EMAILS BETWEEN THE REAL SUZANNE CALDWELL AND THE FAKE JAKE BERMAN

From: Suzanne Caldwell

Date: Sun, 28 Dec, 2 p.m.

To: Jake Berman

Subject: April

Jake—

Vi passed on your info—and I have to tell you I am so thrilled that April will be staying at our place while I’m traveling! She’ll be great company for Vi and hopefully they’ll keep each other out of trouble! Vi is really responsible, though. More responsible than I was at that age, that’s for sure. You wouldn’t believe the trouble I got into. Well, maybe you would—I got pregnant with Violet for one. Ha ha! But seriously, as I told Vi, no rent is required—I’m grateful that April will be around! Vi gets moody when she’s alone for too long! Maybe they can take turns buying groceries or something? Call me anytime on my cell, 203-555-9878.

Cheers!

Suzanne

_______

From: Jake Berman

Date: Sun, 28 Dec, 9:10 p.m.

To: Suzanne Caldwell

Subject: RE: April

Suzanne—

Thank you for your email. Congratulations on your upcoming project. Mary Poppins sounds like the perfect role for you. You’re very generous about not requiring rent—we appreciate it! April can definitely pay for groceries and also her share of heat and electricity. I’ll leave it up to Vi to figure out. It sounds like she’s on top of it. And I can’t imagine her being moody—she’s always such a pleasure to be around. She’s so smart and self-assured! You should feel lucky to have such a wonderful daughter. Please continue to contact me via this email address if you have any questions or concerns—it’s the best and fastest way to reach me.

All best,

Jake

HOLY CRAP

Vi was an evil genius. A moody, self-assured, evil genius.

MOVING IN

“So that’s it?” my dad asked after depositing, with a thud, the last cardboard box on top of two others on my new floor.

The ceiling was low, the walls were bright white (practically fluorescent), the room smelled faintly like spoiled yogurt, and the window looked onto the recycling bin. But it was mine. All mine. My stomach hadn’t stopped fluttering since we got here early this morning.

My dad leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him to stretch his upper back. “Are you sure you don’t need help unpacking? I’ve got time, hon. I’m happy to do it.”

“No, no, Vi and Marissa are here to help me. You get back to your own boxes.” I swallowed. “I mean, the movers probably have questions for you.” They were flying out tonight.

Vi gave me a discreet thumbs-up from her crossed-legged position on my new futon. She was wearing black skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder green top. I shot her a small smile, but despite myself, I felt a stab of loneliness.

“I know, I know . . .” He pulled me into a hug. He smelled warm and musky, like always. “Oh, I’m going to miss you, Princess.”

Then don’t move to Cleveland, I almost said. But I didn’t. Because, yes, I’d miss my dad, but he was choosing to go. To leave me. And besides, I was about to live a sixteen-year-old’s dream. House on the beach. No parents. Parties whenever we wanted. Boyfriends whenever we wanted.

“I’ll miss you too,” I said.

“It’s too bad I didn’t get to talk to Suzanne,” my dad said, his forehead crinkling. He glanced at the basement stairs as if hoping Vi’s mom would suddenly appear, while Vi, Marissa, and I simultaneously looked at the floor. Very interesting floor. Old, beige, well-stepped-on, carpeted floor. “I was hoping to go over the logistics one last time,” my dad said. “In person.”

“I know,” Vi said. “She felt
so
bad about not seeing you. But like I said, my great-aunt fell and broke her hip, and my mom had to take care of her.”

“She’s a good niece,” my dad said.

“She really is,” Vi said, nodding. “She told me, like, five thousand times to tell you how sorry she is.”

“Please tell her I’m sorry to have missed her as well,” my dad said. He headed back up the stairs with the three of us trailing him. By the time I reached the top, I was light-headed, maybe from taking the steps too fast, but more likely because I was having an unexpected panic attack. A real one, with tight lungs and spots in front of my eyes and everything.

If my dad realized what we were really up to . . . ?

I grabbed the handrail to steady myself. Chill, I told myself. Breathe. The only way he’s going to find out is if you let him find out.

“She’s really good on email,” Vi said. “Want me to tell her to check in with you as soon as she’s back?”

“Sure,” my dad said. He turned to me. “So this is it?”

Tears sprung to my eyes, throwing me off guard. I forced a smile. “This is it. Um, I really appreciate it, Dad. Your trusting me and all.”

“Don’t forget your curfew. And remember to start the car every day, or the engine can die. Especially in the winter. I put a flashlight in the glove compartment just in case. And you have your cell.”

He was being so sweet. It was killing me. “Yes, Dad.”

He gave me another hug before leaving. “Be good, Princess. Stay safe.”

I nodded, because I was having a hard time with words. It’ll be better once he’s gone, I tried to tell myself, but this moment—him leaving, me staying, the truth of what I was doing an invisible purple elephant between us—was harder than I’d anticipated. If my dad found out I’d planned such a huge deception, he’d be furious. But worse? He’d be
hurt
.

I’d seen him cry only once, and that’s what I found myself thinking about when I kissed him one last time, waved as he got in his car, and finally closed Vi’s door as he drove away. In my mind I saw my dad’s eyes welling up that one and only time, tears spilling down his cheeks like raindrops.

Marissa and Vi picked up on none of this, thank goodness. The minute the door closed, they launched into their own versions of a happy dance. Marissa’s involved twirls, which puffed up her blue cotton dress, while Vi’s was kind of like the front crawl. I snapped myself out of it. I would be fine, and so would Dad. He’d be happy in Cleveland. He wouldn’t find out the truth. I wouldn’t
let
him find out the truth. I could handle living on my own.

“You guys are so lucky,” Marissa said.

Vi was already trotting back down the stairs. “Time to unpack—and I’m talking pronto, sister.”

“Um, why?”

“Your housewarming soirée is tonight,” she called up to us. “And it starts at seven!”

THE ONE TIME I SAW MY DAD CRY

We were at David’s Deli. I was slurping my chicken soup. It was a day after my fourteenth birthday, March 29. My mom fidgeted with her fork. “April. Matthew. Your father is moving out.” Her voice was calm. Too calm. I wanted to yell that she could at least pretend to be sad.

My dad made an “ah” sound and I turned to him, expecting him to say something. But instead of speaking, he was swallowing hard, like he was trying to hold down sobs. Tears dripped down his cheeks. He tried to wipe them away before we could see. As if that would work.

Except it did, I guess, because Matthew was clueless. “Is he going to sleep in the tent?” he asked. “Can I sleep in the tent too? Please, Dad?”

My dad shook his head. I knew that no matter what, my dad didn’t want to move out. I wanted to jump out of my seat and throw my arms around him and tell him that everything was going to be all right, like he used to do for me.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to cry.

I wanted to spill the chicken soup over my mother’s head.

I wanted to tell my dad that even though his wife of over a decade had slept with someone else, even though she clearly no longer gave a shit about him, I still loved him.

But it hurt to look at him. So I glared at my mother instead and put my arm around Matthew. I kept glaring, until finally, her eyes filled with tears too and she looked down at her plate.

MARCH 28

Yup, believe it: I was born on March 28, yet my name is April.

I was supposed to be born on April 14, but I was two and a half weeks early and my mom decided that April didn’t have to be literal. It could be metaphorical. A new season. A new family unit.

At least they hadn’t named me March.

LOST IN TRANSLATION

Matthew: You better call Mom back. She’s trying to get in touch with you. Has bitten off all her nails.

Me: Moving into Vi’s today! Will call her later! xxx

Matthew: U R?

Me: Dad leaving 4 the Cleve

Matthew: Oh right.

Me: Didn’t you tell Mom he’s moving?

Matthew: Forgot. Did u?

NOT THAT KIND OF MOTHER

Why didn’t I consult my mother about my living situation?

In a traditional mother-daughter relationship, the daughter would probably call her mother to discuss a move like this. Although in a traditional mother-daughter relationship, a high school junior would live with her mother.

But my mother lived in Paris with her new husband, Daniel (pronounced “Danielle”
en français
). She’d been gone a year and a half, since the summer after freshman year.

The truth is, it hadn’t occurred to me to consult her about my living situation.

Which I maybe shouldn’t have mentioned to her in those exact words.

“How could you not have talked to me about this?” she asked on the phone, sounding slightly hysterical.

“It’s not such a big deal,” I said. “Daddy and Penny are moving to Ohio—they leave tonight—so I moved in with Vi.”

“Wait—you moved? This happened already?”

I looked around my quickly and fully unpacked room. Vi is nothing if not efficient. “Yes. Today. My housewarming soirée is in a few hours. I just got out of the shower actually, so I don’t have too long to talk. I think Noah is coming over.”

“But-but—you can’t just do that!”

“Actually, I can,” I said, and if it sounded cold, too bad. I didn’t actively
want
to be cold, but face it, my dad had custody of me. She had custody of Matthew. That’s what they had agreed on when she decided to leave Westport to move to Paris and be with
Danielle.
She was thrilled to be done with child support, done with alimony, done with my father. “You have no idea how annoying it is to have to justify the cost of orange juice,” she’d said to me. And you have no idea how many people you’ve hurt, I said back to her, but only in my head. Screw the orange juice.

“I think you lost your say somewhere over the Atlantic,” I added.

There was a pause. “I’m still your mother. I still get a say.” She sighed. “I wish you’d come live with us in France.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” I said curtly. Then I felt bad so I added, “I would never be able to finish high school in French.” For some reason, whenever I spoke to my mom, I felt guilty. But shouldn’t she be the one to feel guilty? She was the one who left
me
. “I want to be here,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “With my friends.”

“I can’t believe your father agreed to this,” my mother said. “Suzanne’s not the most responsible mother. I remember when she let the two of you walk to the Baskin-Robbins on Main Street by yourselves when you were nine. When you were nine!”

I hung my head upside down to scrunch my hair with gel. “Don’t worry about Suzanne. She won’t even be here. She’s going to be traveling.”

“What? What?”

I grimaced. Why had I said that? “She got the lead in Traveling
Mary Poppins
. Don’t tell Dad.” No, she wouldn’t tell my dad. She didn’t even talk to my dad. And anyway, she would never tattle on me. I was her
friend.
When your parents divorced and your mom started dating again, that’s what happened. At least, that’s what happened with us. Roles shifted. Moms need someone to dissect dates with and (inappropriate or not), tag, you’re it.

“April—”

“What?” I snapped.

“I don’t like the idea of you living by yourself.”

“I’m not by myself. I’m with Vi. You’re not going to be annoying about this, are you? It’s not a big deal.” Why had I even told her? Stupid. Did I want her to worry? Did I subconsciously want her to call my dad?

“I’m not going to call your father, but I don’t like what you’re doing one bit.”

Relief washed over me. “Thanks, Mom. I appreciate it. We’ll be good, I promise.”

“I trust you, April, but promise to call me if you get into any trouble. No, before you get into any trouble.”

The doorbell rang. Noah. I hoped Vi would let him in. “Listen, Mom, I gotta go. Noah’s upstairs and I just got out of the shower. And isn’t it, like, midnight there? Matthew’s asleep?”

“Can you call me tomorrow please?” There was defeat in her voice, and it irritated me and made me feel guilty simultaneously.

“Yup. Give Matthew a kiss for me.” He had spent a week with us in Westport over winter break and the second he got his Unaccompanied Minor butt back on the Air France plane, I’d felt like a part of me was missing. I cried when I said good-bye to him. I always did. Most sisters found their little brothers annoying, but not me, never me. I brought Matthew along with me everywhere. We used to play hide-and-seek and build forts out of cardboard boxes and speak to each other in pig Latin so our parents wouldn’t understand.

“Really tomorrow, though,” she continued. “Not like two weeks ago when you said tomorrow and then I call again today and discover your landline’s been disconnected.”

“Right. Sorry about that. I’ve been busy.”

“Apparently.” Another sigh. It was amazing how well I could hear the sighs despite the ocean between us. I said good-bye, hung up the phone, slipped on my jeans and shirt, and turned on the music, trying to drown out any concerns about my mother.

I needed to raid Vi’s closet. She had tons of funky stuff. Cool shirts, sexy heels, and one red dress that was superhot. Long-sleeved, low-cut, and short. It screamed Notice Me, among other things. Moving in with her came with the added bonus of borrowing whatever I wanted, right? And I wanted to wear that red dress. Not tonight, but soon.

There were three knocks on the basement door.

I tossed my cell on my bed. “Come in,” I said, trying to make my voice sound light and fluffy.

“It’s me again!” Marissa called, running down the stairs. She was in a gray knit dress and black tights and ballet flats. Marissa always wore dresses. She loved them. Winter dresses. Summer dresses. Tights. Bare-legged. Whatever. She was probably the only teenager who hated wearing jeans. She’d wear a dress to play soccer if she was allowed. “Did you miss me? I’ve been gone a whole hour. Did you see that Vi taped your dad’s rules to the fridge? So funny.”

“Oh, hey,” I said.

“What, I’m not exciting enough for you?” she asked.

“No, you are . . . of course you are. I was just expecting Noah.”

He had flown in that morning and I thought he’d have come over by now. Wouldn’t tonight be the big night? First night back . . . first night in the new house . . . hello, first-time sex. It was new Independent Me. And Independent Me was a hundred percent ready for sex.

“Have you spoken to him yet?” Marissa asked.

“Not yet,” I said. “I left him a message. I told him to come over for the soirée.”

“I’m sure he’s just crazed,” she said, waving her hand.

I felt out of touch. Noah had called a few times from Palm Beach but it was tough to actually talk since he was staying with his whole family at his grandfather’s.

I hunted for my black eyeliner and viewed my reflection in the full-length mirror we’d leaned against the wall. Not bad. My long hair was perfectly wavy instead of frizzy, and my skin looked smooth. I lined the inside rims of my lids, hoping to make my brown eyes pop.

“I don’t know how you do that,” she said crawling onto my futon.

“Penny taught me,” I told her. The one thing we bonded over—makeup. “Want me to show you?”

“God, no. I’m getting heebies just watching.”