Meg Cabot - Boy Meets Girl

Poor Mitch! I mean, it was clear he loves his little sister very much, and he was very good and gentle with her, offering to make her some hot chocolate—“the kind with the mini-marshmallows”—and let her stay the night if she wanted to.

But when he heard the part about Sean and Sarah’s “forbidden love”—her words, not mine—I thought he might run out of there and never come back. I mean, he deals—or dealt, rather—with murderers every day, but the thought of dealing with his little sister’s sexual identity crisis clearly threw him into panic. He sent me a look of such total and complete helplessness, well, I knew I couldn’t possibly leave. I mean, he NEEDED me, Jen. He genuinely needed help coping with his tiny little lesbian sister.

So I sat right down and, just like Professor Wingblade told us to, I held Sean’s hand and I listened to everything she had to say, which was most of the usual stuff for a kid who was coming out to her family for the first time. And I explained to Sean that her mother still loved her, but that Mrs. Hertzog was just frightened and confused, and that she hadn’t meant any of the things she said, and that Sean should give her a few days to process the information, and she’d probably calm down and be able to discuss the situation rationally again.

Only Mitch didn’t look as if he believed this. In fact, he even snorted . . . which, I let him know, wasn’t helping. You know, when Sean wasn’t listening. But Mitch just said I didn’t know his mother, and that rational thinking was not one of her strong points.

But I find that so hard to believe. I mean, she gave birth to Mitch, didn’t she? And—aside from the whole getting-me-fired thing—he seems like one of the most rational people I have ever met. I mean, after his initial shock, he took the whole thing with Sean in stride. In fact, when we said good night—after Sean had calmed down and stopped crying, and even cracked a joke or two about how sorry she was to have spoiled our “date”—he told me not to worry, that getting my job back was his biggest priority, especially now that he’d seen me “in action,” as he put it.

In fact, he said I seem wasted on human resources, and should go into a private therapy practice.

But of course, it’ll never happen. The private-therapy thing. Unless I get an MSW, I mean. And how would I ever be able to afford to go back to school when I don’t even have a job?

But it felt good to be of use to somebody for a change, instead of, you know, just mooching off everybody, like I’ve been doing since—oh, I don’t know, it seems like forever. Sean seemed almost perky by the time I left.

I can’t really say the same for Mitch. I mean, he didn’t exactly look like he was going to slit his wrists or anything, but he didn’t look too pleased.

I’m almost positive he thought he was going to score last night.

Um . . . so did I, actually. Thank God Sean showed up when she did, or I might have done something really, really stupid.

I miss you. I miss the office. What’s happening? Has anybody jammed the copier accidentally on purpose so that the hot copier repairman has to come?

To: Kate Mackenzie

Fr: Jen Sadler

Re: SO?????

Whoa. Ask and ye shall receive. That was some story.

But excuse me, Miss “Is The Hot Copy Repairman There.” It sounds to me like you’ve got a hottie of your own eating right out of your little hand. I mean, counseling his little sister through her sexual identity crisis? Way to score! The guy must think you’re freaking Dr. Phil. Only, you know, not bald, and with boobs.

Anyway, enough with the little sister. What are you talking about, “Thank God Sean showed up when she did, or I might have done something really, really stupid”? He’s a nice guy, Kate. Why shouldn’t you have jumped his bones? Because you don’t like his choice of profession? Or because he’s seen you with your head in Dolly Vargas’s toilet?

J

P.S. Did he get into your bra? Please say yes.

J

To: Jen Sadler

Fr: Kate Mackenzie

Re: SO?????

BECAUSE I HAVE NO JOB (THANKS TO HIM, REMEMBER)????

Not to mention, NO PERMANENT ADDRESS.

Also, I AM ON THE REBOUND.

God.

Kate

P.S. The answer is yes.

To: Amy Jenkins

Fr: Stuart Hertzog

Re: Bad news

I don’t know quite how to tell you this, darling. In fact, I hesitate even to do so. You know I don’t want anything to intrude on the dream that is our love for each other.

But the truth is, you’re marrying a man who comes . . . not from a fractured home, per se, since my parents have enjoyed a married life of almost forty years. But definitely a home that—thanks to my siblings, who didn’t have the same advantages as me, being younger and therefore not as important to my parents as I was, being the only child for three years—has known its share of controversy.

You’ve met Stacy, I know, and commented on how normal she seems, despite my descriptions of her as the heartless shrew who once locked me inside a car trunk.

And you’ve met Mitch, who—well, what can I say about Mitch that you don’t already know? I mean, he’s the man who claims you called him a foul name. That is the kind of low to which he’s willing to stoop.

But you’ve never met my youngest sister, Janice. I was hoping, I will admit, that you never would—until her hair grew out, anyway. But now it appears that Janice’s hair is the least of her problems. I’m afraid I have some hard news, Amy, and as it might actually have bearing on the outcome of our genetic testing—as they say these things can be inherited—I feel I have no choice but to tell you.

My sister Janice has been seduced by another woman.

I know it’s shocking. My mother, rightfully, has forbidden Janice from ever communicating with the woman—her college roommate—again. But this girl has my sister so thoroughly under her spell that poor Janice apparently fancies herself a lesbian.

Which is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, because of COURSE Janice isn’t a lesbian. I mean, yes, she’s always liked to keep her hair short, but she was never into sports as a child. True, she never played with Barbies like my sister Stacy, but she never expressed an interest in hiking, or even cargo pants.

I can only assume that this whole thing is a result of brainwashing on the part of the roommate. I don’t actually know what my parents expected, allowing Janice to go to Berkeley, of all the colleges in the world. But . . . well, I just wanted to let you know, Amy, so you would be fully aware of what, exactly, you’re getting yourself into, marrying into the Hertzog clan.

I hope you’ll call me when you get this e-mail. I tried phoning a little while ago, but they said you were attending a staff meeting. Just remember the most important thing: Darling . . . I love you.

Stuart

Stuart Hertzog, Senior Partner

Hertzog Webber and Doyle, Attorneys at Law

444 Madison Avenue, Suite 1505

New York, NY 10022

212-555-7900

To: Stuart Hertzog

Fr: Amy Jenkins

Re: Bad news

Darling! I can’t believe you’re worried about how I might be feeling at a time like this. You really are just the sweetest thing on earth. Please don’t bother your head about me. Your poor mother is the one you should be worrying about. What that woman has suffered because of your siblings! I don’t know how she bears it. Please send her my deepest sympathies.

And tell her not to worry. One of the girls in the Pi Delt house—a legacy, can you believe it?—went lesbian in grad school, but she snapped out of it two years ago. Some of the most happily married women in Manhattan are “hasbians,” and you’d never know it to look at them. I’m sure Janice will be fine.