Notes from a Former Virgin Page 11

  “Merry Christmas, Mom,” Miss Murphy said. “This is Chloe, Charlie’s daughter.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Murphy,” I said.

  “Miss Snow, hello,” she said in a husky voice, and smiled.

  We stayed for two hours. I never stopped feeling afraid, and also ashamed of myself for feeling afraid.

  In the car on the way back, I texted my mother: “Love you Mom.” She instantly texted back, “And I adore you, darling,” which kind of ruined it, but I didn’t care.

  Tuesday, December 26

  I don’t know how Miss Murphy even brushes her teeth in the morning. She must be so sad—how can she find the energy to do the littlest things? Wash her hair, pick up groceries, figure out where she left her other glove? But she does all of that, and she also teaches class and talks to my dad about his job and prepares for the musical (what IS the musical? I can’t wait to find out) and probably reads about pregnancy online and figures out what vitamins to buy, or whatever you do when you’re knocked up.

  If she doesn’t want to tell me she’s pregnant, fine. It’s her business. She’ll tell me when she’s ready.

  Wednesday, December 27

  Grady came over for lunch. He brought a set of pine-scented hand soaps for my dad and Miss Murphy, which I assume his mom picked out, although maybe that’s unfair. We had grilled cheese, and I made hot chocolate with whipped cream for everyone after we’d finished eating. The conversation was very awkward, but everyone was trying hard. The grown-ups asked Grady lots of questions about his artwork and his family, and he gave them nice long answers. It’s not like I was relieved when he left, but I was relieved when the afternoon ended and I could go hide in my room and phonebank. As long as I was dialing, I wasn’t thinking about my dad or Miss Murphy or their baby. Is it OK to volunteer as a way of escaping your real life? Maybe I’m doing it wrong.

  Thursday, December 28

  Miss Murphy asked me if I wanted to practice parallel parking, and I pretended I couldn’t because I wanted to get a head start on my American history project. I should have said yes. I admire Miss Murphy. I like her. I feel sorry for her because of her mother. It’s not her fault I want nothing to do with her now that she’s living in my house and carrying my father’s child.

  Friday, December 29

  The entire junior class is stressing out about New Year’s Eve. Social media has turned into a furious series of rumors about whose parents will be out of town and whether the GoFundMe created to rent a heated tent and set it up at the quarry is an actual fundraiser or a practical joke. Grady invited me, Tris, Elliott, and Hannah to his house on New Year’s Eve to eat chicken nuggets with Bear and watch movies after he goes to bed, so that’s what we’re going to do. Even though I’d rather be with those guys than with anyone else, I feel lame that we’re not attending some rager. Being 16 sucks. Even when you know you’re acting like an insecure idiot, you can’t change yourself.

  Saturday, December 30

  Dad called Grady’s mother to confirm that she’ll be home tomorrow night. I’m mortified. He does realize that in two years he won’t know where I am at any given time, doesn’t he? That college is a parent-free zone? God!!

  Sunday, December 31

  This was the year I lost my virginity to my cute boyfriend—what a great one! I’m sad it’s almost over.

  I’m trying to feel optimistic about the new year too. Yes, I’m having some trouble with my dad and Miss Murphy, but I’m sure it’ll smooth over. As far as I know (he’d tell me, wouldn’t he?), Reese hasn’t been texting Grady from Europe. Maybe she’s moved on. I’m spending the night at a wholesome party with my honeybunch and my best friends, and because I don’t need to impress anyone, I’m wearing my biggest, coziest sweater. Everything’s good.

  Monday, January 1

  I’m never drinking again

  In big trouble with my dad

  Too hungover to write any more

  Tuesday, January 2

  I swear, I didn’t mean to get so drunk on New Year’s Eve. It was a terrible mistake. The first problem was, Grady’s mom and stepdad got invited over to their neighbors’ house at the last minute. After Bear went to bed, Mrs. Trevor set up the baby monitor in the living room, where we were, and asked us to keep our voices down so we wouldn’t disturb him.

  The second problem was Mr. Trevor.

  “We’ll be back sooner than you think,” he said, staring at Grady.

  Mrs. Trevor looked up at him. “You don’t want to stay until midnight?” she said.

  “No drinking,” Mr. Trevor said, ignoring her and continuing to bore his eyes into Grady.

  “Yup,” Grady said. Then, when he saw Mr. Trevor’s face, he tried again. “I understand.”

  “So you think you can behave responsibly for a few hours of your life?”

  “Carsten,” said Mrs. Trevor to Mr. Trevor.

  “I sure can,” said Grady. He does the same thing I do: talks in a voice so polite no adult could criticize it, even though both you and the adult know you’re being sarcastic, not actually polite.

  “That’ll be a first,” Mr. Trevor said.

  Tris and Elliott and Hannah and I tried to vanish into the couch. It’s one of the worst parts of being a kid—seeing your friends’ parents being dicks to them and not knowing what to do. You’re too scared to defend them, and anyway, doing that might be more humiliating than helpful. You’re mad for your own reasons, because the parent is essentially treating you like an animal, some lesser being that doesn’t understand what it’s observing and wouldn’t be able to take action even if it did. And you are a lesser being, because legally you’re a child. You can’t protect anyone. What are you going to do, call the cops and tell them your boyfriend’s stepdad embarrassed him in front of his friends?

  As soon as Mr. and Mrs. Trevor left, Grady got a bottle of Jack Daniel’s out of the liquor cabinet. Even Hannah didn’t protest. She understood, like we all did, that Mr. Trevor had basically forced him to do it.

  It was 8:30 p.m. The plan was for my dad to pick up me and my friends at 12:15 and drive everyone home. I figured I could have one drink and sober up for the next three and a half hours. But as soon as I had a Jack and ginger (and four maraschino cherries), my caution seemed ridiculous. It was New Year’s Eve! I was 16—almost an adult! In plenty of other countries, I’d be getting drunk with my parents at this moment! Not that I was going to get drunk. I was going to cautiously and responsibly SIP another drink or two, which would still leave me hours to chug water, eat something, and find some cinnamon gum, which Noelle says hides everything, including cigarette breath.

  I did sip, but I sipped and sipped and sipped. Another problem was, we were whispering, because we didn’t want to wake up Bear, and eventually we all sat on the floor, around the coffee table, so our faces would be close and we could hear each other better. At first we were giggly, but then we got serious. We whispered about school, and the worst and best things to happen to us last year, and the things we hope will happen this year. Someone turned off most of the lights. Grady found a candle, lit it, and put it on the table in front of us. The whispering and the dimness and the candlelight and the whiskey made it feel like we were carrying out an important secret ritual. We started talking about the country, our democracy, and the world, and how scared we are. We talked about all the horrifying things that happened to kids our age this year. Then we talked about what it must be like to sit in a closet with your classmates, hiding from an active shooter while your teacher tells you she loves you and she’s proud of you. Time passed. Before I knew it, we were all wasted. More time passed—I couldn’t tell how much. Hannah was saying, “I was meant to live in the 1950s,” and crying. Elliott jumped up and ran to the bathroom, I think to throw up. Grady and I made out right there in the living room and only stopped because we heard Tris say, “Oh my God, it’s 10 past 12.”

  We all started running around. Tris and I actually crashed into each other as he lunged toward the bath
room to find Elliott while I made a beeline for my coat. “What do we do? What do we do?” everyone said as they raced past each other, trying to put on shoes and find phones and will themselves into sobriety, but there was nothing to do but say good luck to Grady, go outside, and pray that we wouldn’t bump into Mr. and Mrs. Trevor (we didn’t), and that somehow we wouldn’t make the car reek of whiskey just by exhaling (we did).

  “Good night, Mr. Snow,” Elliott said as we all slid in. “I mean, good evening.”

  My dad turned around to look at my friends in the backseat and then me in the front seat. “You’re kidding me,” he said flatly.

  Hannah let out a hysterical giggle and then hiccupped and lapsed into silence.

  Dad sat with his hands on the steering wheel, looking into the dark night, thinking. Then he started the car and backed out of Grady’s driveway. He didn’t speak, so neither did we. Hannah was first to get dropped off. Dad parked, walked her to her door, and rang the bell.

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” said Tris. I looked back and saw him and Elliott holding hands tightly. Grady! I wanted Grady. What was happening to him right now?

  Hannah’s mom appeared, wearing a pink hoodie and jeans and looking worried. As she listened to my dad, her eyes darted to Hannah and her lips tightened.

  “Should we make a run for it?” Elliott asked Tris.

  “My dad will just call your parents,” I said.

  We sat in silence and watched Mrs. Egan order Hannah into the house like a dog.

  We had to wait and wait at Elliott’s house; when his father finally came to the door, it was obvious he’d been asleep.

  “Please, Mr. Snow,” Tris said as we drove to his house. “I know I messed up.”

  “Concealing this from your parents would be irresponsible,” my dad said. Tris was quiet for the rest of the ride. Before he got out of the car, he squeezed my shoulder, so at least I knew he didn’t blame me for this debacle. His mom came to the door wearing a baggy sweatshirt and pajama bottoms. She pulled him into the doorway next to her and put her arm around him. She kept it there even as my dad talked. As he turned and walked down the path, I saw her looking at Tris with a sympathetic, worried expression.

  “We’ll discuss this tomorrow,” Dad said to me when he was back in the driver’s seat. He didn’t speak again, not even at home. He went upstairs without saying good night, turning the lights off behind him like I wasn’t there at all.

  Wednesday, January 3

  Grady didn’t get caught. His parents stayed out until three, by which time he’d cleaned up every trace of our hangout and gone to bed. Anyway, they were so drunk themselves that they woke him up crashing into things and laughing, so it’s not like they would have noticed even if he’d left evidence everywhere. I’m not sure why my dad didn’t rat him out—maybe because he didn’t want to have an awkward conversation with Mrs. Trevor about why she’d left us alone when she’d said she wouldn’t.

  Elliott’s grounded for a week. Hannah’s grounded for two weeks. Tris’s parents don’t believe in grounding, but he had to have a long conversation with his mother about the family history of alcoholism and what it was like for her to watch her father die of liver disease. They both cried, and Tris promised her he’d never drink again.

  I’m grounded for A MONTH. Dad used to be like Mrs. Flynn—he thought grounding was tyrannical and counterproductive. But that was when he liked me. Now he’s decided I’m a bratty jerk, and he’s fine with being a tyrant. He sat me down at the dining room table on Monday night to explain my punishment, which he called a consequence, exactly the way he used to call my time-outs consequences when I was five years old. I didn’t know the word “euphemism” back then, but I do now.

  “I’m disappointed, Chloe,” he said. “I know some parents turn a blind eye to underage drinking. I don’t. Your brain isn’t done growing. Alcohol really does damage it. And you’re not able to protect yourself adequately when you’re drunk. From assault, from bad decisions.”

  It was nothing I hadn’t heard a thousand times in health class. What I wanted to know was how I was going to survive a month without Grady. “Can I still see my friends?” I said.

  His mouth flattened out. Once again I’d disappointed him. I was supposed to be listening to his heartfelt lecture, and instead I was focused on me, me, me. “In school,” he said. “And you can talk on the phone. But no meeting up with anyone. No guests at our house. I need to show you I’m serious, Chloe.”

  “This sucks,” I muttered.

  He leaned forward and tried to catch my eye. “You know what sucks? The fact that you were too hungover to go to Marian’s brunch today.”

  I did feel bad about that, but did he have to rub it in? Obviously I would have enjoyed eating a waffle the size of my torso and belting out “Happy Birthday” more than staying home to throw up. I didn’t need him to point out that I should be ashamed of myself.

  “I’m sorry I ruined Miss Murphy’s birthday,” I said. I tried to sound genuine, but I could hear the rudeness in my voice.

  He sat back in his chair. “I am too,” he said coldly. “She deserves better from you.” After that he went to change his clothes. He was taking Miss Murphy to a steakhouse for dinner. I’d been invited weeks ago, and I thought maybe I could still go, but they left without even saying anything to me. They treat Snickers with more respect. At least he still loves me. He licks away my tears, and even my vomit breath doesn’t seem to bother him.

  Thursday, January 4

  A few weeks ago I was so excited about the musical, and now Miss Murphy’s almost certainly pregnant, I was barfing during her birthday brunch, and in general everything is so monumentally uncomfortable between us that I didn’t even feel a flicker of emotion today when she announced at school that the musical is The Addams Family. Whatever. I guess I’ll figure out what the parts are and try out. And then spend ALL of my time with Miss Murphy. Because it’s not awkward enough seeing her in my kitchen constantly; I might as well stare at her in rehearsals for four hours a day too.

  Friday, January 5

  We’ve never discussed it, but until now Grady and I have had an unspoken rule against going at it in school. But that was before I got grounded. Now school is the only place we can put our hands on each other for a few minutes. We try to find deserted places to do it, at least. Today we were making out hard-core by the gym, which is usually quiet during lunch, but of course a bunch of senior guys came by for some reason and heckled us as they walked past. I’m pretty sure they didn’t see Grady’s hand up my shirt—he snatched it out as soon as he heard the doors open—but I’m not positive.

  If I turn into the school laughingstock, it’ll be my father’s fault.

  Saturday, January 6

  Miss Murphy insisted on taking me out for driving practice. We didn’t talk much after I got on the highway, which I still hate doing. I can’t believe you have to accelerate that fast to get off the on-ramp. Who designed it like that?? It makes me feel like the world’s worst, most terrified race-car driver. And whenever I look over my left shoulder to see if it’s safe to merge, I accidentally steer left too, and I’m constantly getting honked at and nearly sideswiped.

  I’m never going to pass my test.

  Once I’d made it to the middle lane and my heart rate was more normal, I said, “I’m so sorry about your birthday.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Really. I’d rather skip the whole thing entirely.”

  She told me this story about the day she turned 30 and for the first time in her life, a shop clerk called her “ma’am,” and then when she went for a blowout, the stylist said the haircut she’d requested would be “a little on the youthful side” for her. She was being funny and interesting, but I couldn’t pay attention. I kept thinking, You’re pregnant. You’re pregnant. You’re pregnant.

  Are they ever going to tell me?

  Sunday, January 7

  I hate being trapped in my house, but at the same time,
it’s a good conversation piece. When I tell people about it, they’re like, “A MONTH??” and “You’re joking me” and “Your dad’s insane!” and “How drunk were you?” It almost makes me proud. Today Noelle texted to invite me over, so I texted her the whole the saga of New Year’s Eve, and she responded with dozens of exclamation points. Then she called me to hear more, and I got to enjoy the shock in her voice.

  She said, “The longest I’ve ever been grounded for was a week, and that was after my mom caught me and Maisie smoking weed in my bedroom. She forgot about it after three days anyway.” Her voice was full of respect for me, or maybe for Dad. I couldn’t tell.

  “You were smoking in your bedroom??”

  “I thought my mother was working late.”

  I asked her about her visit with her dad. “What’s going on with him and his girlfriend?”

  “Ex-girlfriend. She called me on New Year’s Day.”

  “She called you?”

  “She thought I could talk my dad into taking her back. I feel kind of bad for her.”

  “You hate her!”

  “I know, but she was crying so hard she was almost choking. She spent all that money on fake boobs and fake teeth and fake hair and what did she get? Dumped by some dad on New Year’s Eve. He told her he needs more intellectual stimulation.”

  “She told you all this?”

  “She told me they had anal sex because he insisted and then he broke up with her two weeks later.”

  “Oh my God, Noelle.”