Watch Me Disappear (22 page)

She reads it, looks at me, and nods.

The last time I hung out with Missy she convinced me to go see a chick flick with her. She picked me up and we went to the mall and then the movie. For the most part we had a good time. In her usual fashion, Missy managed to make me feel like I was the most important person in her life—a valued, trusted friend she could not do without. That is, until the movie ended and she took me home in a hurry so she could go meet Paul. Then she seemed absurdly fake to me. Was it just her guilty conscience that had led her to spend a Saturday with me instead of Paul?

She pushes the note back to me. “I miss you! I never see you anymore!”

Whose fault is that? I shrug at her and then avoid catching her eye for the rest of class, but that isn’t the end of the conversation.

“What do you say?” Paul asks when I walk into art class.

“About what?”

“Missy’s parents’ party tomorrow,” he says. “It’ll be fun and you should come.”

“Fun?” I say. “Me, you, and Missy sitting around playing with the baby in the midst of Missy’s parents’ friends?”

“Exactly.”

“Sitting around watching you two being cute and cuddly isn’t my idea of fun.”

“Oh, not into PDAs, I guess. Well, with all the adults around, we’ll be keeping that to a minimum anyway, so no worries there.”

I don’t answer.

“And you’ve admitted that Missy’s mom is a heck of a cook,” he says. When I still don’t say anything, he throws a casual arm around my shoulder. “I miss you. I miss hanging out.”

“Then come over some night,” I say, shrugging him off.

“Oh yeah, your brother will be home soon, right? He’s a cool guy. I’d like to hang out with him some more,” he says.

“Right, don’t come to hang out with me.”

“You know what I mean,” he says. “So, I’ll pick you up tomorrow? 6:30?”

I stop fussing with my art supplies and look at him. His are the most expressive, varied, and enticing brown eyes I’ve ever seen. “Fine,” I say.

He grins and gets up to get his paints and other supplies.

*          *          *

All the shrubs in the front yard of Missy’s house are laced with white Christmas lights that twinkle and shake in the breeze. It snowed this morning—just a dusting but enough to create a picture-perfect, Hallmark ambiance. A garland is draped around the porch railings with red Christmas balls dangling from it, and the Christmas tree is on display in the bay window, multicolored lights sparkling.

Paul and I arrive early, supposedly to help with the preparations, but really everything is done. We walk through the door into a Christmas wonderland. Sprigs of evergreen lay atop picture frames on the walls, candles are set in the center of wreaths on the side tables, the fire in the fireplace is glowing, and appetizers have already been set out. Everywhere I look there are holiday knick-knacks. It is like being in one of those Christmas stores where everything smells like balsam and spiced apple cider and something glitters in every corner. Instrumental holiday music plays softly from the stereo. I feel as if I’ve walked onto the set of a Hollywood movie. Any minute Santa might appear, wink, and take a cookie.

The little nod toward holiday cheer set out by my mother at our house pales in comparison. A few days earlier she set up the fake Christmas tree (a very convincing and expensive fake, I must say) and set out the boxes of ornaments, but we can’t decorate until Jeff comes home. To make up for the lack of cheerful pine tree aroma, she has “Christmas Tree” scented candles to light if company comes. As cards arrive, she stashes them in a green and red painted wooden box on the table in the foyer. It is subtle enough that you barely notice it. The only other decorations to speak of are the wreath on the door and the red and green table setting. My dad didn’t manage to string up any lights outside, and I’ve noticed that up and down our street, very few houses have any. I feel that old familiar gnawing jealousy in the pit of my stomach. This is Missy’s life—warm, welcoming, joyous. My family looks like a pack of freeze pops by comparison. Standing there, watching Paul lace his fingers in Missy’s, seeing her mother come down the stairs with the baby in her arms, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more lonely. I may as well be watching through the frosty windows.

“Lizzie!” Anna says, leaning around the baby at her hip to give me a kiss on the cheek. “Merry Christmas! We haven’t seen you in ages. Say hi to Lizzie, Lucas.” She moves the baby’s arm to wave at me.

“Come in,” Missy says, urging us away from the door. “I think we should stake out a place in the front room.” She leads us that way.

Missy takes us to the far corner of the room near the windows where the lights are dim and a loveseat and chair are arranged into a cozy nook. Paul and Missy settle into the loveseat and I sit in the big wing chair. I feel the draft from the window over my shoulder and try to suppress a shiver. I am wearing the outfit my mother bought me for just such holiday occasions. A black knit top with satin trim along the neckline that ties in a little bow, and a pleated, knee-length wool skirt that is apparently the style of the season. She tried to talk me into a pair of tights that shimmered, but that was a bit much for me, so I wear regular opaque black tights and black Mary Jane shoes. The outfit is cute but not warm. I wish I had worn pants and a heavy sweater, something that would allow me to curl up and keep warm. I hadn’t even thought about how Missy’s house is old and drafty. Paul has his arm around Missy and she nestles into him.

“Don’t you think, Lizzie?” Missy asks, snapping me from my reverie. I haven’t been listening at all. I’m just trying to keep a pleasant expression on my face.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” I say.

“I was just saying how great it is that there’s snow on the ground,” she repeats. “Most of the places my dad has been stationed have been in the southwest, and I don’t know if I’ve ever really had a white Christmas before.”

“Oh,” I say. We have been reduced to talking about the weather. “Yeah, it is nice.”

“I’m going to go make sure my mom doesn’t need any more help,” Missy says, untangling herself from Paul’s grasp. “You two talk amongst yourselves.”

I move as if to follow her, but she waves me off. “Don’t be silly!” she says. “You’re our guest.”

I slide back down into the big chair and look at the floor.

“You were right,” Paul says after a minute.

I look up.

“Missy’s mom is a better cook.”

Is he trying to start a fight? Why did I agree to come to this stupid party? “Why don’t you come by one afternoon and tell my mom that, and while you’re at it you can reassure her that I was telling the truth all along when I told her that all you really wanted with me was to get to Missy,” I say.

“Hey, I was just kidding.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around more.”

“Whatever.” Oh how I wish I were anywhere else. And I know that if he doesn’t shut up soon this conversation is going to end with me in tears no matter how hard I try to fight it.

“Missy and I are both really glad you came tonight,” he says.

Like that makes a difference.

“I have missed you, Lizzie,” he says. “You know I think of you as one of the guys, and if it makes you feel any better, I haven’t seen much of them lately either.” He flashes his sly smile. I am supposed to be happy for him.

“Yeah, but I’m not one of the guys, am I? I’m just your girlfriend’s friend.”

“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he says without looking at me.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I say getting up. I can feel a sob rising in my throat and tears balancing on the edges of my eye lashes. “I need to borrow a sweater.”

I run straight up the stairs to the bathroom and lock the door behind me. It is going to be a long night.

*          *          *

It is a small party, small enough that we all sit at the dining room table for dinner. Anna has Paul sit at the end of the table with Missy and me on either side of him. I avoid conversation by shoveling food into my face and not making eye contact with any of the adults who smile condescendingly and ask us questions about school and what colleges we’re applying to. Paul, of course, charms the pants off all of them, at least whenever Missy lets him get a word in. It seems to me that dinner lasts for hours and by the end I am so full of food I can barely breathe. Thankfully after dinner, the party ends rather abruptly and I don’t have to suffer through more small talk while also trying to hold in my gut.

As soon as the door shuts behind the last guest, Anna gives each of us of a task or two to help clean up, sending us to different rooms. I am relieved to have a minute to myself and to have the chance to move around after that huge meal. My job is to bring dishes in from the dining room to the kitchen. Missy is in charge of loading the dishwasher and taking care of hand wash items. She has more than she can keep up with, so I don’t have to hurry. Paul’s job is to go through the other rooms and pick up stray cocktail napkins and glasses.

I am slowly stacking some plates to bring into the kitchen when Anna comes in.

“It’s so nice to see you, Lizzie,” she says. She looks overwhelmed and tired, as if she realized too late that having a four-month-old baby makes throwing a party a lot more exhausting than it otherwise would have been. “I’m glad you’re staying tonight.”

I like Anna, so I want to say something nice, but I’m not sure I can without betraying my true feelings. I just force a smile and continue gathering odd items from the table.

“You know, we were just thrilled when Missy introduced you to us. With all the moving we’ve done, she hasn’t had a lot of good friends. I mean, Missy is so relaxed, she’s always managed, but to have a friend who is so studious and nice—it means a lot to us that she’s having such a nice senior year.”

I nod, not looking up.

“You can tell me if I’m wrong here, but maybe Paul has been a wedge between you two.”

“No, no,” I say. “I like Paul. He’s great.”

Anna smiles. “Well don’t be a stranger. Now that your college applications are in, you don’t have to work so hard, so you come over any time.”

I nod again.

“And thanks for helping with the clean-up,” she says, heading back toward the kitchen, taking with her a pile of napkins I had heaped up.

I wonder what Missy has told her about me and Paul. I know Missy is the sort of girl who tells her mom a lot of stuff, but I also know she doesn’t tell her everything. Still, it seems to me that Anna knows how hurt I am. Whether she thinks that is because Missy’s been ditching me for Paul or because Paul broke my heart, I can’t say.

*          *          *

Paul doesn’t linger much after we clean up. Missy and I change out of our party clothes and lounge in her room. I almost forgot how much I like her room, with her wacky decorations and brightly colored comforter. We gossip about kids and teachers from school and I can just about pretend we are back in the carefree summer. But, of course Missy can’t stay away from the topic of Paul for long.

“You know when we first met, I thought he was just a player,” she says laughing.

“He does seem a little too, I don’t know,” I pause, trying to figure out how to criticize Paul without giving away my feelings for him. “Like a playboy or something,” I say finally.

“But he’s so sweet really. I think I’m in love with him,” she says, looking at me with watery eyes.

“You haven’t been dating very long.”

“I know, but I think when you know, you know.”

“Well, be careful,” I say. “Don’t let your guard down too soon.”

“What do you mean?” she says, sitting up on the bed.

I know it’s the wrong thing to say but the words come out before I can stop them. I hear myself saying, “Well some people think Paul is just going to use you. He’ll just have sex with you and then ditch you.”

“What? Did he ever say anything like that to you?”

“Well, no, but…”

“Then why would you think that?”

“Maura said—”

“Maura! Maura told you he was just going to use me? Why do you listen to her?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Whatever. You know you can’t believe a word she says. I’m sure she told you she and Paul had sex and then he dumped her or something like that.”

“No, she didn’t. I mean, she said they’d had sex,” I answer, but actually I’m not sure she ever said so.

“Well, she’s a liar. Paul has never had sex. He’s waiting until he knows he’s found the right girl.”

That’s news to me.

“Don’t look so shocked,” Missy says, flipping her hair and crossing her arms. “You know Paul. He doesn’t drink, he doesn’t do drugs, he respects his mother. Is it so surprising that he wants to wait?”

When she puts it like that, it isn’t surprising at all, but I can’t admit it so easily. “Wes said the same kinds of things,” I remind her.

“This is different,” she says. “With Wes, I don’t know, I guess I was just desperate. I wanted a boyfriend. I wanted a perfect high school sweetheart. With Paul, I just want to see how things go.”

“Well, if Paul told you he’s never had sex, he’s probably telling the truth,” I say.

She drops back against the pillows. “I think so.”

Neither of us speak for a minute, and then she leans up on one elbow and turns to me. “So what about you? Got your eye on anyone?”

I roll my eyes. What am I supposed to say? Yes, I do, in fact. I really like your boyfriend.

Eventually Missy falls asleep, but I can’t relax. All I can think about is Paul with his arm around Missy. Paul apologizing
if
he hurt me. Missy so oblivious to my crushed heart. And she’s supposed to be my friend, my best friend.

After laying there for a while, I get up with my cell phone and go to the bow window at the far end of Missy’s room. I sit with a blanket around me looking down at the snowy yard. Although most of the houses have turned out their porch lights and Christmas lights, the streetlights reflect on the crisp snow and the moon, nearly full, glows in the clear, black sky, illuminating the yard.