Page 5 of Life, Love, and Other Messes

“A couple,” I said. “I mean, they’re mostly crap.” I had eighteen of them from middle school through the first couple years of college, not two. And yes, they were mostly crap, not at all professional quality, but there were good parts in each of them, things I knew I’d want to save for later. I also had a series of spiralbound notebook journals locked in my camp trunk at home that, when stacked, came up past my waist.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dr. Howard said. “Most of what everyone writes is crap. The few pages that aren’t are golden. I just assume that since you have more pages than most people, there’s a greater chance that at least some day, you’ll cull enough together to turn out something amazing.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, looking at my shoes again. I’d been given too much information, too much to process, and I wanted out of there. “I promise I will stop writing other people’s papers.”

Dr. Howard reached over and squeezed my shoulder, both fascinating and alarming. “Thank you. Take care of yourself.”

I fled down the hall and turned a corner instead of going downstairs. I found a little cove there, with a bay window and cushy furniture. I was breathing heavily and my heart was pounding. I stood against the window and watched students move from building to building three stories down. A group of slacker boys were kicking a hacky sack and a girl with butt-length hair was sitting by the fountain, playing guitar even though it was too chilly for it. I felt like I was going to cry. I didn’t know why, really: because I’d been caught, or all the other things Dr. Howard had said. I leaned toward the latter.

Shit. I slid down the wall until I was sitting with my knees tucked to my chest, and tossed my folder to the side. I leaned my head back and consulted the ceiling, but it told me nothing. I could search Yahoo, I supposed, but since Dr. Howard had said the research wasn’t easily digestible, I assumed I’d be relegated to card catalogs and thesis papers if I wanted to learn about this thing she said I had. It felt like I had nowhere to turn, nobody to run to. Except maybe a therapist, and that wasn’t going to happen.

Chapter Two

2024

The next Tuesday I was halfway home from the gym when my phone rang. I glanced down and read Mom on the screen, and sighed. I let it ring another time, then decided it was better to get it over with than to let her leave a message and have to call back later. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, honey. How are you doing?”

“Fine. How are you?”

“Oh, all right. We went to the doctor yesterday for your father’s knee…”

I continued on my drive, listening to the report on everyone’s various ailments and updates on my brother’s children. I was in the driveway when she said it. “Well, you can talk to them about it next weekend.”

I thought for a moment, as I tried to get the correct key without dropping my phone. We had been talking about my brother and his family going to Disney World. What was next weekend? I usually called Kevin for his birthday, but that was in March. I was stumped. I finally asked Mom.

“The wedding,” Mom said. Her voice told me I was being silly.

I closed the door behind myself and tossed my bag down so I could free Ollie and scritch him behind the ears. “Come on…Let’s go out,” I told him, then returned to Mom. “What wedding?”

“Cami Snyder’s wedding.”

Her mother worked with my mother at the church and I’d babysat Cami when I was in high school and home summers from college. “Wait, I can talk to Kevin then?”

“Yes.” Mom sounded exasperated. “We’ll have them over while you’re in town.”

Oh shit. I didn’t remember getting an invitation to Cami’s wedding let alone saying I’d go. She’d been about six the last time I’d seen her. “Mom, I’m not even invited.”

“She sent an invitation to the whole family. I responded for you.”

I pressed my forehead against the doorframe. “Mother.”

“Kevin is busy that night, but—”

“Mom, you didn’t even ask me.”

“We talked about it months ago.”

I knew for a fact that we hadn’t. “I haven’t seen her for a million years. Why would she even want me at her wedding?”

“The whole family was invited,” she repeated. “When are you coming in? Friday night or before that?”

I should have said I had plans, or an appointment, or anything to get out of it, but I didn’t, so I stood there in silence, watching Ollie dig up my flowerbed. “Friday night, I guess.” I hate my life, I added inside my head.

After another five minutes of talk about my nephew’s swim meet during which I inserted the requisite “uh-huh” from time to time, I grabbed Ollie’s harness and leash. I’d need to fix that flowerbed. “Hey, buddy.”

Ollie perked up and bounded toward me, filthy paws and all, and planted the front ones firmly on my chest. I was glad I was still dressed from the gym or I would have had to grab the stain stick.