Jennifer Archer - Sandwiched

“Your ass is cute, too. And you never expect me to kiss it.”

He nuzzles his cold nose against my hand. “In fact, you’re the best-looking guy I’ve seen in a long time.” As I size him up, I have to admit, he is. His coat is smooth and shiny, his body looks strong, his eyes are sad, but clear. He comes from a long line of prize-winning English bulldogs, and it shows.

“I think you’ve got potential, Max,” I say, perking up a bit. “A good-looking stud like you? I bet if your services were for sale, every bulldog hussy this side of the Mississippi would be panting at your doghouse door. Someone in this family besides Bert might as well get some action.” At least I’d get paid for Maxwell’s philandering.

Max prisses over to the grass.

“Another point in your favor. You don’t leave the toilet seat up when you pee.”

He hunkers down.

“Really though, Max.” I swat at a fly. “You might want to start lifting your leg. I don’t know what the hussies would think of a squatting stud.”

When Max finishes his business and comes back over, I scratch between his ears. “I might even enter you in one of those stuffy shows. I bet you’d take home the blue ribbon.”

With one final scratch to Max’s head, I return my focus to the envelope. I open it, pull the paperwork out, unfold it, then set it aside, facedown. Why not see what else came in the mail and put off the inevitable? I make my way through bills, flyers, an invitation to a party to celebrate an associate’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Good for her. Thanks for rubbing it in. I reach for an envelope from Erin’s school. The letter inside is for parents of seniors. A meeting’s planned next week to discuss graduation plans; announcements, caps and gowns, the class party. Already.

A wave of sadness sweeps over me.

Erin. She’s not a little girl anymore. But she’s not as grown up as she thinks she is, either. She’s pulling away from me, but still requires my guidance. More than ever. But I need a different approach now that she’s older.

With a sigh, I return to the legal papers. Can’t put them off forever. Maybe I’ve been looking at this divorce all wrong. Maybe it’s a new beginning rather than an ending. A chance to discover new interests. To rediscover old ones. To do something for me, for a change. I should redefine my relationship with Erin, focus more on my career, spend more time with Mother. Can’t all that be enough?

When I flip to the last page, Bert’s signature jumps out at me. Then mine. I suck in a breath of cool air.

My tears taste salty and bittersweet as I stare at the document that ends my old life and launches a new one.

New and improved.

To: Suz@friendmail.com

From: Erin@friendmail.com

Date: 11/6 Thursday

Subject: Judd

Hang up your phone! I’ve been trying to call you! I’m hyperventilating! He’s coming over again! Right now! If you get this message, call me on my cell at midnight in case I need an escape. ~ Erin

Stuffing my phone into my jean pocket, I hurry to the closet and look inside. What was I after? I scan the shoes on the floor, the clothes on hangers. My mind whirls, my heartbeat’s skipping. I am seriously having a panic attack.

I tug off my girly pajamas, the ones Nana gave me for Christmas last year, and wiggle into my newest pair of hip-hugger jeans, the skintight T-shirt I bought yesterday, and a pair of pink rubber flip-flop thongs.

After hurrying into my bathroom, I get started on my face. Blush on my cheeks. A little red lipstick, then a whole lot more. I blot my lips on a square of toilet tissue then apply mascara. Several coats. My hand shakes so much that the wand bumps my cheek, smearing black across it. “Not now!” I snarl, as I reach for the toilet paper roll again and knock over a perfume bottle. It clatters as it falls, making my heart thump all the harder. The last thing I need is to wake up Mom or Nana.

When my cheek is finally clean, I bend over at the waist and ruffle my hair, then straighten again and spray it. I step back and take another long look at myself in the mirror. Something’s not right…something…I glance down at my chest. The jellyfish!

I return to the closet and put on a bra, then find the silicone inserts I borrowed from Suz’s sister. When they’re in place, I check my reflection again.

A girl I don’t recognize stares back at me. A girl with wild hair, too much makeup and a big set of ta-tas, as Suz always calls them. A phony. A fake. A Britney Spears clone with brown hair instead of blond. Exactly the kind of girl I can’t stand. So why am I doing this?

I cross my arms, turn away from my reflection. Because I’m sick of being boring, straight-laced Erin. Because I’m tired of sitting home with Mom while everyone else is out having fun. Because Judd wouldn’t give the real me a second look.

Judd. Judd Henderson.

I met him Saturday night at The Beat. He’s twenty, about to be twenty-one, a junior at North Texas. He thinks I’m also twenty, and that I’m a junior at S.M.U. At the club, he didn’t look twice at Suz, though she stood right beside me. He walked straight over and asked me to dance.

We danced all night. Then, when his ride was leaving and he had to go, he kissed me. Nothing major, just brushed his mouth against mine and said he’d call.

He did. Night before last at ten. I almost died. He wanted to come over so I had to come up with an excuse really fast. I said I was sick. Strep throat.

He said he was sorry and promised not to kiss me. Not on the lips, anyway.

Just the thought of him kissing me again anywhere, especially with Mom and Nana close by, almost gave me explosive diarrhea, so I said that, according to the doctor, the strep throat was highly contagious and he shouldn’t even come in the house.

So what did he do? He came to my window.

Like, how romantic is that? Totally romantic, if you ask me, no matter what Nana says. I’m pretty sure she hinted about Judd yesterday in front of Mom. She must’ve seen him at my window. At least she didn’t come right out and say it. Which I can hardly believe.

Anyway, for maybe the best forty-five minutes of my life, Judd smoked cigarettes and talked to me in a low voice through the window screen. He told me he likes how I act all quiet and shy, but my look says something different. I didn’t tell him that my “look” is the act, and that quiet and shy is the real me.

Before he left, Judd laughed and said hanging outside my bedroom window made him feel like he was back in high school. I said it did me, too. Then I remembered that I am in high school, and I felt even phonier than I do now.

Judd promised to call again to check on me and, a half hour ago, he did. Since I can’t pretend to be sick forever, and he’d probably think it weird that a twenty-year-old woman would have to sneak out of the house to meet a guy, I told him Mom caught my strep throat and that the house is still pretty much off-limits. So, I’m meeting him out front at eleven-thirty.

Except for the strip of light beneath Mom’s bedroom door, the hallway outside my room is quiet and dark. I decide it might be safer to go out my window again instead of risking her hearing the front door open and close. That way, I won’t have to worry about the security alarm, either. I duck back into my room and lock myself in. What I’m really doing, though, is locking Mom and Nana out.

Ten minutes later I’m beside Judd inside his pickup truck, which is parked at the curb in front of my house with the engine and headlights off.

Judd turns down the music. “You sure you don’t want to go somewhere?”

I shake my head. “I still have homework to do. I can’t stay out long.”