“What?”
“Why did you lie?”
“What do you mean?”
“That story . . . of us being together . . .”
I was starting to feel sick to my stomach. “You lied, too.”
“Why’d you do it?”
“Because you wanted me to? Because I wished it were true?”
He shook his head, pinning me with his stare.
“I’m sorry.” I meant it. I was sober and it all seemed so stupid now.
His expression softened. He reached out to touch my face but pulled back. “I think you should go,” he said.
“I’m already one step ahead of you.”
I opened the door and left without looking back.
* * *
ONCE I GOT home, I proceeded to mope around my apartment while Helen watched me like a hawk. I had told her everything, watching her face transform from totally excited to completely horrified.
“Did you get his phone number?”
“I know where he lives, Helen. I don’t need his phone number. Also, I never want to see him again.”
She was sorting laundry on the couch, looking on while I opened the refrigerator, stared into it uncomprehendingly, and closed it. Over and over again. But there was no point; I had no appetite.
“I think you should go over there and be like, what’s up? Tell him you’re a grown-up and you know what a one-night stand is. He didn’t have to be a dick.”
I replayed the night and morning in my head. “The weird thing was that he seemed more disappointed than rude.”
“Some guys just aren’t straight up about it. They like to make girls feel stupid so they’ll leave without being told.”
“Oh, he told me.”
I opened the refrigerator again.
“You’re letting all the cold out, Charlie.”
“Do you want to have dinner at my parents’ tonight?”
“Chuck the Fuck gonna be there?” She was referring to my golden-boy brother.
“Who cares?” I said flatly.
“I just hate how your parents dote on him right in front of your face.”
I plopped down on the couch next to her folded laundry. “Mom doesn’t.”
“No, I guess not. Pops is just hard on us.” My parents treated Helen and me like we were sisters. Helen sometimes called my mom “Mom” and my dad “Pops,” though I don’t think he was very fond of the nickname. Growing up, she had spent many weekends at our house, so it was just natural, but I think my dad felt that Helen and I had an unhealthy relationship. Maybe we did, but I didn’t care; she was my only friend.
7. That Computer Thingy
I was still in a mood when we got to my parents’ house. My mom was asking me a million questions while she cooked beef stroganoff, which I hated, by the way. My brother Chucky loved it, so she made it every time she thought he was joining us for dinner.
“Is Chuck even gonna be here?” I asked her while I hovered around the stove and Helen sat on the countertop, checking her phone.
My mom ignored me. “Helen, get off the counter and help Charlotte set the table.”
“Should we set a spot for the prince?” Helen asked.
My mom smiled. She actually loved Helen. “Set two extra spots. One for Charles and one for the new girl he’s dating.”
“Ew, gross, who would date him?” I asked, rolling my eyes.
Chucky never showed up, even though he technically lived at home. He had zero respect for my parents and they gave him everything, including all of their attention.
The first thing my dad said after kissing me on the cheek and taking his seat at the dinner table was, “When are you girls gonna get serious?”
“What do you mean, Pops?” Helen said.
“I mean, are you going to work at Blackbird’s until they run out of that tortilla soup?”
“Honey,” my mom said.
“No, I’m serious, Laura. These girls are gonna squander their twenties playing games at a diner while they date and date and date some more.” He shook his head. “How come we never meet any of these guys?”
My mom answered for me. “We have. We met that one boy, with the neck tattoo.”
I looked at Helen. “Curtis.”
Helen laughed hysterically. “You met Curtis, the guy who used to cry when he saw an El Camino?”
“It’s not funny, Helen,” I said, “he had a serious phobia. He could barely leave his house.”
I thought about the night before with Adam. He would have seemed suitable to my parents. Too bad he dogged me.
Helen knew I was thinking about him. She was staring at me from across the table.
“It’s too bad you never got to meet Adam, Laura,” Helen said.
“I’ve never even heard of an Adam,” my mom replied.
I tried not to make eye contact with my mom.
“Helen,” I warned through clenched teeth. My mother caught my eyes. “What?” I said to her.
“Tell me about Adam.”
My mom was sincere but my dad, on the other hand, was shaking his head, slurping up his dinner and trying to ignore us.
“He was a lawyer,” I said.
“A lawyer?” my mom said. Both of my parents perked up.
“I went on one date with him, Mom.” I didn’t mention that it was the night before. That would have been too uncomfortable, even for Helen.
“Why? What did you do?” my dad said.
“Nothing. I don’t think he liked me that much.”
“How could he not?” My mother was shocked. “You’re beautiful and smart.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said into my bowl of stroganoff.
“Of course, leave it to Charlotte to finally find a nice lawyer and then send him running for the hills.”
“How’s the dental business, Dad?” I tried to change the subject.
He looked up at me. “Great, as usual. Charles is very lucky that he’ll inherit the practice, but he’s also worked his ass off for it.”
Helen chimed in, “Adam was an artist, too. A painter.”
Why was she stuck on this topic? I felt bad enough.
“That’s romantic,” my mother mused.
“Yeah, so romantic,” my dad said sarcastically.
“Let’s stop talking about this,” I begged.
“Well, I know you don’t want to talk about it anymore, but I signed you up for that computer match thingy.”
Why is it that so many people over the age of sixty refer to everything on the Internet as some sort of “computer thing”?
Helen was trying to contain her laughter. “Laura, do you mean Match.com?”
My father was groaning audibly now.
“Yes, that’s it. Charles helped me put up her profile.”
“Oh my god, Mother. Are you kidding me?”
Helen jumped out of her seat and started running toward the computer in my dad’s home office, which was right off the dining room.
“Get out of there, Helen,” my dad yelled, but she ignored him.
I chased after her, but she stuck her arm out, blocking me from the monitor. “No, I have to see it!” she shouted.
“Stop it, girls,” my mother chided.
“Move, bitch.” We were very mature for our age.
“This is the best day of my life. Your mommy made a Match profile for you!”
“Actually, Chuck made it,” my mother yelled from across the hall.
Oh shit.
Helen typed my name in quickly. My prom picture from nine years ago popped up on the screen. My brother had cropped Steve Dilbeck out of the photo the best he could, but you could still see Steve’s arms wrapped around my purple chiffon–clad waist. “You’re joking. You’re fucking joking.”
“Language, Charlotte!” my dad yelled.
“Mom,” I cried, “he used my prom photo! What is wrong with him?” I still had braces at eighteen. I had to wear them for seven years because my orthodontist said I had the worst teeth he had ever seen. You know how sharks have rows of teeth? Yeah, that was me. I blame my mother and the extended breastfeeding for that one, too. My brother, Chuck the Fuck, used to tease me, saying it was leftovers of the dead Siamese twin I had absorbed in utero. My brother’s an ass, so it’s pretty awesome that he set up this handy dating profile for me. In case you hadn’t noticed, our names are Charlotte and Charles. Just more parental torture. Would it be dramatic to call that child abuse?