My face burned, and all I could manage was, “Yeah. Um. I’m going to bed.”
But inside, I was raging. This man was speaking to me about my mother? Scott was talking about her like she was his primary concern, like it was his job to make sure she was happy?
I clenched my jaw and had taken one step when he asked, “Did you have fun?”
I stopped. “What?”
Again with the fatherly smile. He asked, “Did you guys have a good time shopping?”
I smiled back as I daydreamed about pushing him off the couch. With a cattle prod. “Yeah.”
“Good.” He snuggled back into the couch pillows. “Night, Bay.”
MY NAME IS BAILEY, YOU SHOELESS DOUCHEBAG! I wanted to roar it like a bloodthirsty hellbeast, because only my friends and my mom got to call me that.
But I just said, “Good night.”
As soon as my door closed behind me, I gritted my teeth and threw my head back in a silent scream. It was so unfair. Wasn’t your house supposed to be the one place where you felt at home? Like, relaxed and comfortable? My heart ached with homesickness whenever I thought about the house back in Fairbanks. Not because of the home itself, but because it seemed like a lifetime ago that I’d lived with the wrapped-in-a-blanket comfort of knowing that at any given time, the only inhabitants of the place were the members of my family.
No dates, no boyfriends, no coworkers who liked to yell Whoo when they had girls’ night at our apartment. I missed my home being my home so much that I rarely allowed myself to even remember life before the split.
It hurt too much.
I flipped on my little TV, but Scott’s presence had ruined The Bonk. I was too worked up to get lost in trashy reality TV. I tossed my phone onto the bed and changed into my pajamas—my dad’s faded old Global Weather Central T-shirt that still went down to my knees—as I silently raged.
I felt like I was going to explode.
My phone buzzed, and I didn’t recognize the number that popped up. But when I opened the message, it was from Charlie.
Hey, Glasses.
Even though he’d said he was going to text me, I couldn’t believe he actually kept his word. I stared at the phone in my hand like I’d never seen a phone before, wondering how to proceed. Do I answer and engage with him? Do I ignore it and pretend it never happened?
I felt too ragey about Scott to think rationally.
But as I flopped down onto my bed, I thought about what Charlie had said about his interactions with his mom’s boyfriend. Did he really just go off whenever he felt like it? I could never do that, but imagining it was sublime. Calling Scott a peckerface and telling him to put some shoes on his gnarly feet? That was some euphoric kind of daydreaming.
Instead of responding to his “hey,” I went wild with oversharing.
Me: My mom’s boyfriend just called me out on being late. She’s asleep, as in down for the night in her bedroom, but he is still here watching TV. Is there a way to kill him without getting caught?
There were immediate texting bubbles, and then—
Charlie: Just ask him why he’s still there and throw in the word “loser.” Tell him he’s gotta go.
I couldn’t believe I was smiling, but I was. The idea of that conversation was just too funny. I texted: I can’t do that.
There were more conversation bubbles and then they disappeared.
Just as my phone rang.
It was Charlie.
Almost on instinct, I let my phone slip from my hand.
Why is he calling me?
My heartbeat picked up as I retrieved the phone, unsure yet again on the best way to proceed. Talking to Charlie on the phone, instead of just texting, seemed like a big bump up for us on the friendship scale and seemed somehow unwise.
But for reasons I didn’t have time to explore, I answered.
“Hello?” I said, beyond hesitant about this unexpected form of communication.
“Quit being a wuss. Go out there and get it done.”
I lifted up enough to kick the throw pillows off my bed before flopping back down. “I don’t like confrontation.”
“Do you like hiding in your bedroom?” he asked, his voice sounding deeper over the phone.
“Well, no.”
“And you can’t just give up your territory, by the way.” I could hear music in the background, and I wondered what he was listening to. “As soon as he conquers the living room, he’s only going to advance and take more space. Before you know it, you’ll be living in an occupied state where he is the king. Stand your ground.”
I turned over onto my back, amazed that anyone’s brain worked that way. Love him or hate him, Charlie was definitely his own person. I said, “He’s not advancing, you psycho. This isn’t a war.”
“The hell it isn’t.” It sounded like he was moving around when he said, “I fought hard but not until it was too late. Now the jackass practically lives here.”
“Ugh.” Three stains formed a flower shape on my ceiling, and I wondered what had caused it. “That’s a nightmare.”
“Right?” I heard him bite into something crunchy.
“So he’s there all the time?”
“Every minute.”
“Does he act like he belongs in your family?”
“What?”
“Like, is his role that of your mother’s roommate, where he stays at your house but that’s kind of it, or does he tag along if you guys decide to eat out?”
He sounded like he was smiling when he said, “You sweet little na?ve child, hoping for some fictional version of the best. The answer to your question is that Clark is ever-present. He eats with us, watches TV with us, rides in the car with us, texts us, and shares his every dickish opinion with us. Last week, for example, he went to conferences with my mom, asked my trig teacher if it was possible for me to come in early for extra credit, and then he came home and casually mentioned that I wasn’t applying myself.”
“Shut up,” I said, horrified for him. How utterly intrusive.
“Trust me, I wish I could.”
“That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard,” I said, staring up at those ugly ceiling stains.
“Which is why you need to stand your ground.”
“You’re right.”
“But, Bailey,” he chastised, his tone downright fatherly, “you’re not even going to leave your room, are you?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
“You’re just going to hope for the best?” he asked, sounding disappointed in me.
“That’s right.”
“Well, I’ve got a news flash, Glasses—the best never comes.”
“So.” I rolled over onto my side and realized I didn’t want to get off the phone with him. Apparently, when facing depressing Scott thoughts and certain insomnia, I was desperate enough to grab on to ol’ Charlie. “You’re just as positive as ever. Like a freaking ray of sunshine.”
“I’m still a realist, yes,” he said, sounding incredibly serious.
“Well, I’m just going to trust that my mom will bore of Scott over time and then maybe take a hiatus from dating for a while.”
I was counting on that.
He made a noise of dissent, like a snort or an exhale, before saying, “Yeah, that’ll happen.”