The Ruining (13 page)

THE wALLpApER wAsN’T A dREAM, even though every aspect of my life had begun to feel off-kilter. The wallpaper was there when I woke up at seven A.M. for class. It was in my head so much on the way there, even as I carefully navigated my way through the dense fog that settled around the city in a cool, misty blanket in the mornings. The wallpaper didn’t go away all day, not as I fidgeted with my coffee cup as my Eighteenth-Century Political Philosophy professor droned on, and definitely not as Morgan passed me a note in Design that read, “U alright? U look like shit. Mani/pedi’s after class?” I was tempted to crumple up the note and ignore it. “No time,” I wrote back instead. “Gotta get back 2 the kids.” She read it and made an annoyed face. And on my phone’s screensaver, the yellow wallpaper flashed and swirled.

The classroom began to resemble a yellow prison. Not really, but that’s the way it was in my head. Why my room? Had she decided to play some sick mind game with me after she saw what I’d been reading? But why? I felt like I was high, but I hadn’t taken anything. I felt like I hadn’t eaten or slept for weeks. I felt like something had shifted inside me and I was too weak to figure out what it was.

I hadn’t had any texts from Owen all morning. But he had played “pirate” in Words with Friends. I tried to convince myself that his seventeen-hour silence was normal. I spent a lot of time composing texts and then deleting them instead of listening to the lecture. I drank peppermint tea from a thermos to stay alert. My hands shook. They were shaking pretty constantly now, because I was always so tired and on edge. I wondered when Owen would text me, and why he hadn’t yet. I wondered if he didn’t think about me as much as I thought about him. I thought he probably didn’t, because if he did then he would have gotten in touch. What if he just thought of me as a little kid he could mess around with and then discard? These thoughts, they crushed me. They wormed their way into my mind and nested there. I decided I wanted Owen to be in love with me. It didn’t really matter whether I was in love with him.

Morgan caught up with me after class. Some other girl— one of her friends, I guessed—loitered awkwardly behind her. She gave me a little half smile and hugged her books to her chest. “Dude,” Morgan said, “where have you been? I haven’t seen you in, like, forever.”

“I’ve just been working a lot. Hey.” I nodded my chin at the friend.
“Oh sorry, this is Lily,” Morgan said. “We’re on the pom squad together. I made the pom squad! You should come to a football game, it’s awesome.”
“I don’t know,” I hedged.
“Well, look, whatever,” Morgan said brusquely. “I know you’re busy and all, but I just wanted to tell you about this party we’re hosting at the Pom House on Friday. It’s going to be great, we’re going to have four kegs, there’s going to be tons of cute guys, and I haven’t seen you out all semester. Will you come?”
“Sure,” I said, knowing full well I wouldn’t. I was just so tired lately. “I’ll definitely try.”
“Awesome!” Morgan’s face brightened, like she’d forgiven me for something I didn’t know I’d done. “Gotta fly. Practice. Hey, you should come over early on Friday. We’re doing a pregame at the house.”
“Cool, yeah. I’ll definitely try.” Morgan rolled her eyes at my response.
“Annie, at least pick up your phone once in a while.” And then she was off. Lily gave me a little wave. “Nice meeting you,” she said before tagging along after Morgan, her high-heeled boots clicking lightly on the surface of the sidewalk.
I hadn’t even talked to Morgan in at least a month. It was weird that she was all of a sudden being friendly. And was she pissed at me for not getting in touch with her? Why would I call her when she hadn’t even bothered to call me?
“Morgan!” I shouted after them, and she paused, turning halfway back toward me. I jogged after them to catch up. “Hey, I just—um.” I wanted to ask her why she’d dropped me after Dis-O, but I couldn’t. In the end, I couldn’t ask. “Have you done the reading yet for Fem Lit? The Yellow Wallpaper thing?” Morgan looked at me strangely, furrowing her brows.
“I’m not in that class,” she told me. “Sorry.” Then they turned and walked away, leaving me stunned.

“yOu’vE BEEN skIppINg A LOT of classes,” Libby pointed out as if it were my fault. As if she hadn’t begged me to skip class here and there to take Zoe to birthday parties or because she had an appointment she “absolutely couldn’t miss,” something that usually wound up being the all-important treatment for her invisible cellulite or laser bikini hair removal. “It would probably be way easier to make friends if you went to school more often.” She didn’t bother looking up from her paperwork. She’d pushed her glasses down to the bridge of her nose and was peering intently at a bunch of forms.

“I just think it might be good for me to get out more,” I said uneasily. I’d decided randomly that maybe Morgan’s party wouldn’t be so bad after all. I was thinking I should make a last-ditch effort at a normal college social life. As Libby talked, I stared at a crack that was beginning to form in the ceiling above her. It looked like water damage. I couldn’t believe I’d never noticed it before. I couldn’t believe Libby hadn’t noticed it yet. “I think I’d be a little less stressed if I started hanging out with more people,” I mentioned. The crack spread from one edge of the molding all the way to the other, almost the whole length of the wall. It had little offshoots, like fingers. The paint bubbled out from under the offshoots in fat white blisters.

“I’m sorry, Nanny, is there something I’m missing?” Libby looked up from her paperwork with a frown. “In the past several weeks, you’ve skipped out on babysitting nine times. Now obviously I’m not blaming you for your calc exam.” She waved one hand dismissively. “That couldn’t be helped. But this whole nutmeg-allergy thing could have been avoided. I mean, really! And is it in my imagination that it occurred when you were out on a date with your boyfriend? Hence, time off? Maybe if you were a little more responsible, these snafus wouldn’t happen! Maybe if you managed your time better . . .” She stopped and took a breath, apparently in an effort to calm herself. I rubbed absently at a smudge on her desk with the corner of my T-shirt. I looked up, and she gave me a hard glare.

“Do you know what this is?” she asked quietly, indicating the stack of papers in front of her. I shook my head. I’d only asked for Friday night off, so I could go to Morgan’s party. Zoe would be in bed anyway, and Walker and Libby had a nonexistent social life. Why was it such a big deal?

“It’s our bills,” she said. “More specifically, your hospital bills. Do you even know how many extra hours you owe us to make up for this?”

I raked my fingers through my hair. She had a point— I’d been nothing but a burden to them since I’d arrived. After they’d gone out of their way to make me feel comfortable. “I’ll

“Nanny, just sit,” she said with a sigh, indicating the damask-embroidered chair in front of her desk. “There are a couple of things.”

“Okay.” I sat. My headache had already begun to overwhelm me. I’d felt its onset shortly after we’d started discussing the party, and now it was beginning to feel all-consuming.

“First, I’m wondering if you should cut back your hours at school to part-time. Before you protest”—she silenced me with a palm—“just listen to my logic. One, lots of kids can barely manage school without part-time jobs. And the ones who do work usually wait until their senior years, when they have more flexible schedules. Would it be so bad to take an extra year to graduate? It seems like the most logical move to me.” She paused as if to gauge my reaction. Part-time jobs, she’d said. It was laughable; I’d been working full-time hours since the day I’d started, with the exception of the days I’d taken off because of the allergy incident. But I only had one day off per week, normally. And I wasn’t guaranteed to have even that whole day. It was hardly part-time. Which makes her argument all the more valid, the voice inside my head argued.

“I’d have to talk to my professors . . .” I started. “Fine,” she interrupted. “Whatever works. I’m sure Walker can talk to them, too, if need be. One of his contracts is the new engineering facility. They’re very grateful for his contributions; I’m sure they’d be receptive to our suggestions for your curriculum.” There was something off-putting but also comforting in the way the Cohens were making decisions for me. If I’d had more energy, I might have fought. But there was relief in floating through it, allowing things to happen. The alternative was just too exhausting.
“What else?” I asked. Libby sighed again, rubbing her temples. She got up and filled her electric teakettle with water, pulling a bunch of tea bags from a drawer in her desk.
“It’s Owen,” she said abruptly, just as the water started to boil.
“What about him?” I tried to keep my tone even, not too guarded.
“I’m just not sure he’s good for you.”
“What are you talking about?” I forced out. “He’s my only friend here.”
“Darling,” Libby laughed. “Don’t be so dramatic! And besides, aren’t we friends?” I nodded faintly in response, although I was still confused about that. “I just think he’s taking up what little extra time you should be devoting to your schoolwork. Like you said, you should be leading a normal college life. But also, I feel responsible for you. I can’t imagine what your parents would think if they knew you were having a sexual relationship with someone so much older.”
“He’s only twenty. And we’re not having sex.” I was too thrown by the thrust of her argument to make sense of any of it or even bother to mention that it wasn’t her business either way.
“Then where did these come from?” Libby wanted to know, rummaging in her desk to produce a packet of condoms. “Zoe apparently found these in your room. Thank goodness she didn’t know what they were. But I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable with you bringing strange boys into this house. Around my daughter! How well do we really know him?” My mind felt thick, clogged. I took the condoms from Libby and turned them over in my palm. I’d never even held a pack of condoms before. I was still basically a virgin, if you didn’t count that one mistake with Daniel.
“These aren’t mine. And we haven’t had sex.”
“Well, they’re certainly not ours, if that’s what you’re implying,” Libby said, looking shocked and furious. “Walker and I haven’t had sex for months. Because of the baby,” she clarified. “Not because there’s anything wrong. But even if we were, we certainly wouldn’t be using condoms. We’re trying to build a family.”
“Maybe they’re leftovers,” I suggested. “From before.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Libby snapped. “Take ownership for your mistakes.”
“Libby,” I protested, “I don’t even have a door on my bedroom. How would I be having sex?”
“At his place! In the pool house! In the car! In the myriad of rooms available to you. How should I know? That’s not the point.”
“The point is that they’re not mine,” I tried again.
“Then what’s this?” she asked, producing a receipt from her drawer.
“I have no idea! It’s a receipt from the drug store. How should I know? It could be yours.”
“The credit card number doesn’t match any of our cards,” she informed me. I looked down. The receipt was numbered 6686. I shuffled in my purse for my wallet, pulling out my credit card. The last four digits read 6686. I looked back up at Libby blankly.
“Well?” she wanted to know.
“It matches,” I whispered. The receipt trembled beneath my fingertips. But I didn’t remember buying these. But then, who did? Libby, in a conspiracy to frame me for . . . sex? That was completely bizarre. None of it made sense.
“Tell me, Nanny. What do you and Owen talk about when you’re together?”
“I don’t know,” I managed, squirming in my seat. “Just normal things. His family, my family . . ”
“Us?” Libby interjected. “Your life here?”
“Sometimes,” I stammered. “But nothing specific. Just normal things.”
“Do you two talk about me and Walker? Do you laugh about us? Does Owen tell you how mean I am, how you shouldn’t have to put up with it? Does he tell you that you should work less? Is that why you’ve been so lackadaisical lately?”
“What? No,” I insisted. “No! Never.”
“Maybe he wants to get you to quit, to run away with him,” she suggested. “Maybe he tells you he’ll stay with you forever, if you tell him everything.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I whispered. She was speaking so calmly, but her words were shocking and completely unwarranted. The tears were streaming silently down now. There was nothing I could do to stop them.
“I really don’t like living with liars,” Libby said, holding up the condoms. “So I’m going to assume you forgot about buying these. It’s an awfully shaky memory you have, Nanny. I’m starting to wonder whether you weren’t forthright about being up to the task of nannying. I think maybe it’s time we looked into getting you some help.” The wall behind Libby blinked and faded. It was marigold, and sunshine, and the color of my mother’s wedding ring. And in it were faces. Layered over and over, their mouths gaping as if screaming from under a pool of liquid gold.
“I don’t have a door on my room,” I said finally. “Why are you putting up yellow wallpaper?”
“Nanny!” she snapped. “Focus! What do either of those things have to do with anything?”
“Annie,” I said. “My name is Annie.”
“Which is exactly what I said,” she seethed. “It is exactly what I have always said. I’m starting to think there’s something seriously wrong with you, Nanny. I’m this close to firing you.” She indicated how close between her thumb and forefinger. There was a space perhaps a piece of paper could slip through. “I feel like my hands are tied.”
“Don’t,” I heard myself pleading. “Please don’t.” If she fired me, I would have to leave. There would be no Owen. There would be nothing. The idea of Libby hating me was unbearable.
“I won’t—for now—only because I know you have nowhere to go. Would those deadbeat parents of yours even take you back? Especially in your condition? No, Annie. I’ll let you stay only because I feel sorry for you. And because I wonder if maybe I can help you.”
“Yes,” I said. My voice emerged from the dark tunnel of my brain, worming its way through muddy, cottoned clumps. “Help me.”
“Drink this,” she told me, handing me a mug of tea. “And take this.” She held out a little white pill on a napkin. “It will calm you down.”
“What is it?”
“Just a Valium. Nothing to worry about.” I took the pill from her and swallowed it down with a gulp of tea. The warm, peppermint-flavored liquid scalded my throat, making me gasp for breath.
“What did you mean about Owen not being twenty?” I wanted to know once I’d taken a moment to calm down. “Why did you say that?”
“What do you mean?” Libby’s face was laced with confusion. “When did I say that?”
“Just a minute ago . . .” I stammered. “I thought . . . I mean . . .”
“You must have misheard me,” she said crisply. “Twenty seems about right. His mother mentioned something about how he’d be a junior in college if he’d gone.”
“But then what about my parents?” I asked. “You said they’d be upset if they knew I was sleeping with someone older?”
“My goodness,” Libby laughed. “I know your parents don’t care what you do, so why would I say that?” Then she paused as if something had just occurred to her. “Oh god,” she said. “Oh, Annie.”
“What? What is it?”
“I wonder if you misinterpreted something I said because of your stepfather.”
“What are you talking about?” My pulse quickened and I felt the world swirling around me. The tea had had a soothing effect, or maybe it was the Valium. I could feel my panic but it had been muted, as though someone had thrown a blanket over it. It was there somewhere but far enough below the surface that it didn’t bother me anymore. Nothing bothered me anymore. The Valium was lovely, it really was.
“Darling,” she said softly. “Of course I know all about your stepfather. He was a vile man. Don’t be afraid to admit what he did to you. The abuse. Of course that’s why you’d be afraid of older men.”
“Dean didn’t—he never did anything. I blocked the door.” My soft voice curled around us. It’s okay, it told me. Don’t be angry with her. She only wants to help.
“I understand,” Libby nodded, pity in her eyes. “I know. We have more in common than you think, you and I. We’re both used to being manipulated, pushed down. Taken advantage of by older men.” The fury underneath her words was unmistakable.
“No,” I protested feebly. “Dean never got a chance. I never gave him a chance.” But the world was fading out, and my eyelids were growing heavy. It was only nine o’clock, and Zoe needed to be put to bed. I couldn’t be falling asleep again. I couldn’t cast aside my duties.
“Where’s Zoe?” I asked, my thick tongue making it difficult to force out the words. “I need to tuck Zoe in.”