CHAPTER 7

2003

“Cici, wake up!” I shook her shoulders and bounced on her bed.

She rolled over, pulling her covers tighter. “Five more minutes.”

I pulled the pillow out from under her head and hit her a few times. “Wake up!”

She knocked me off the bed as she rolled over and grabbed her alarm clock. “Maggie, it is two thirty in the morning!” She grabbed the pillow out of my hands and smacked me with it.

“No, it’s I-just-had-sex-thirty in the morning.” I plopped back down on her bed. Cici already had her V-card punched by her high school boyfriend. They mutually agreed to break up when they went off to college because Cici is painfully pragmatic. She hadn’t dated anyone in the almost year we had been here. She was here on an academic scholarship, and she made it clear she was laser-focused on graduating in the top of our class. So my sex dance wasn’t as important to her as it was to me.

I had no desire to give up my hymen to anyone in high school. Life in an elite prep school is like living in a fish bowl. Plenty of debauchery happened there, but it was only tolerated from the boys. I couldn’t stand to talk to any of the people in that school, much less let one of them touch me.

A pillow smacked against my head again. “Hello! I’m talking to you. You can’t just come in here and say that and then clam up. I want details. Who did you throw your cat at?”

I grabbed the pillow from her and whacked her across the chest. “What do you mean who? The guy I’ve been dating for six weeks!”

“Oh yeah. Matt.” She yawned and stretched. “He’s pretty normal so I keep forgetting about him. He’s not a hippie, or a part-time rodeo clown, or a magician. I like him.”

“I get it. I’ve had some colorful suitors. I really liked that rodeo clown, though. Too bad he had to leave town. I was hoping he knew some rope tricks, if you know what I mean.” I elbowed Cici in her side and she winced.

“He kept coming over here in costume, though, and I was having some truly messed up nightmares. I wasn’t sorry to see him go.” She shuddered. “Back to tonight. Was it any good?”

“It was great at first. Then it took a weird turn.”

Cici pulled the pillow out of my hands and clutched it to her chest. “Oh no. Weird for you is different than weird for other people. I’m scared now. What happened?”

“Well, we were at the grand finale . . .” I made a hand gesture in case she didn’t know what I was talking about. She hit me with the pillow again. “. . . and he started singing show tunes.”

“Show tunes?”

“Show tunes. I think it was something from Cats. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I didn’t even put my shoes back on.”

“Ew. That could be creepier than clown guy. Matt is dead to me now.”

“Same. The sex was good up until that point, at least. Everyone talks about how terrible your first time is, so I had very low expectations. He greatly exceeded those, so I tip my hat to him.”

Cici smiled too big, so I knew she was about to say something awful. “Well, you’ve been having dream sex with Finn several nights a week, so you’re hardly a virgin. You probably dreamed your hymen right off.” I didn’t like the way she moaned Finn’s name. I didn’t like it one bit.

“You hush your mouth. I’ll have dream sex with whomever I want to have dream sex with. You’re not the . . . dream police.” As far as comebacks go, that was not one of the better ones.

“I think you should come down to the park with me and have Gene psychoanalyze you when it’s not I-just-had-sex-thirty in the morning.”

Cici, in all of her academic eagerness, had arrived at school for the start of her freshman year earlier than anyone else. Being from a small town in the Midwest, she took to exploring the metropolis around her. She ended up in Gramercy Park one morning and befriended this elderly man who sat in the park most of the day. She loved Gene. He would easily be her best friend if I hadn’t forced myself into the top slot. She went down to visit him any day she could make it there.

“Don’t you dare talk to Gene about my sex life. I swear I will know if you do. You’re the worst liar I’ve ever seen.”

“Wow, someone is a little touchy when it comes to Finn.” She slipped her arm through mine and laid her head on my shoulder. “I would never talk to Gene about anyone else’s private matters. I promise.”

I leaned my head against hers. “You’re right. I know you better than that. What does he say about your lack of private matters, though?”

***

The next few years flew by. Cici’s determination to graduate early rubbed off on me. We stayed on campus and kept full schedules during the summers. Cici walked the stage with honors and jumped right into the master’s program. I didn’t graduate with honors, but I did graduate early with a degree in film and television. For the first time, I felt like I had earned something instead of having it be my birthright. If I had to pick a turning point, that was it. I liked that feeling, and I wanted to keep it forever.

I got into a business postgraduate program with Cici. She taught me about starving artists, so I was motivated to switch my focus. As much as it pained my father, he called in some favors and the school allowed Cici and me to keep living in the same undergrad dorm room. We were far too settled in to move.

I was heating a cup of water for tea when Cici walked in looking very worse for wear. She was soaking wet and missing one of her shirtsleeves. “What the heck happened to you?”

She tossed her bag onto the floor. “There was an incident. I don’t want to talk about it. But I will tell you I’m down two textbooks, and I’ll never ever take that shortcut again.”

I turned on the coffee maker and pulled out the grounds, knowing this was the only way to fix her incidents.

“I know what would make you feel better. Why don’t you come have dinner with my parents this weekend? We’re going Friday after class.”

She looked at me skeptically. “You’re taking the artist?”

She was talking about my new boyfriend, of whom she was not a fan. “Ramone? Yes. He’s coming with me.”

She shook her head. “I would love to go, but I can’t make it due to lack of interest. I’m still not over the fork thing with Lake, and I can’t watch you torture your parents with another crazy person.”

I put my hands on my hips. “First of all, he’s not crazy like Lake.”

“He asked me if I knew where he could find a preserved human head.”

“Yes, but that was for a project. Who are we to judge art?”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “Okay, he’s a little crazy. But you’ve been to my house since the fork thing and you had fun. My parents love you.”

“I do have fun every time we go by ourselves. Then they start trying to set you up with the most eligible bachelors, and you react by latching on to the first nonconformist you can find and drag him home like a cat with a mouse. I can’t watch that whole cycle again. I’ll have to start seeing a real therapist instead of just Gene.”

I tapped my foot and crossed my arms. Then uncrossed my arms and put my hands on my hips. Then recrossed my arms. “I take offense to how accurately you described that. While it is technically correct in every aspect, I don’t like hearing it.”

Cici pretended to put on glasses. “I hear your feelings, and I appreciate them. However, I feel that you shouldn’t take The Artist Soon to be Known as Your Ex-Boyfriend to your parents’ house.”

We had taken Psych 101 during undergrad together. We created something called the Vincent-Carrington Method, or Carrington-Vincent Method, depending on whom you asked. At the heart of the method were the invisible glasses. The rest was made-up jargon sprinkled with feelings. We were going to trademark it as soon as we agreed on a name.

“He’s not about to be my ex-boyfriend. We haven’t even dated that long. I feel you’re being stupid.”

Cici took off her nonexistent glasses and chewed on the end. “I feel like you use your parents to scare off your boyfriends as much as you use your boyfriends to scare your parents.”

I thought long and hard about that because it was ludicrous. What kind of crazy person would do something like that? Just because I brought over a few eccentric people when they were starting to lose their luster, that didn’t mean it was a pattern. “That’s . . . poppycock.”

She lowered her brows. “Poppycock is the defense you’re going with?”

I had been watching too much BBC and I knew it. But I wouldn’t admit that or Cici’s assessment. “Yes, poppycock. I would never bring anyone to meet my parents unless I was serious about them.”

***

A few days later, I sat in the formal dining room next to Ramone, the most boring artist in the world. I could taste our imminent breakup in the back of my mouth. Cici was going to be impossible to live with, but I couldn’t take much more of him. All he talked about was art. Where did we go on dates? Art galleries. What gifts did he give me? Art. What was his actual middle name? Art. It was too much.

“Mr. Vincent and I are lovers of art. What medium do you work in, Ramone?” I was starting to feel sorry for my mother. She was a slave to polite conversation with guests.

“I mostly work in shoelaces right now. I got into some legal trouble recently for grave robbing. I guess repurposing corpses is frowned upon in this area.”

The grape tomato Dad was cutting shot across the room.

Mom coughed to clear the tension. “Did you say shoelaces?”

Ramone moved here from Chile when he was young, but he still had a hint of an accent, which was what caught my attention to begin with. He had jet-black hair that was silkier than the silkiest My Little Pony ever made. He wore a lot of V-neck shirts that were too low cut for any man or woman. I was attracted to his passion. He was like a firework inside a jar. It was beautiful to watch. I thought he would be a good fit for me, but I realized I wanted someone who was passionate about a lot of things and not just one. He would make someone happy. Just not me.

“Yes, I primarily make statements about sex and bondage with them, but I want to branch out within a year.”

Another tomato went sailing.

Mom dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “Is there a large market for . . . shoelace art?”

Ramone pushed aside his plate. I have seen it all too many times. When art was on the table, he was in the zone. “I think it’s going to be the next big thing. I’m trying to start the trend. My latest piece is called Fuck the Patriarchy in the Mouth with a Screwdriver. I could sell it to you if you’re interested.”

A third tomato joined its brethren on the floor.

Mom looked panicked. They didn’t teach this in finishing school. “I think it might clash with the Manet we have upstairs, but I will get back to you.” She cleared her throat. “Maggie, you’ll never guess who I ran into the other day.”

I knew that tone. It was the matchmaker tone. A chill ran up my spine. “I wouldn’t have any idea. Who did you run into?”

A huge smile spread across her face. “Mrs. Eagleman. Do you remember the Eaglemans?” She continued without waiting for an answer. “Of course you do. And I’m sure you remember Barron Jr. He’s top of his class at Harvard Law. Isn’t that wonderful? They couldn’t be prouder. He’s weighing his options with offers from all the big firms in New York.”

“Good for him. I’m sure he’s happy.” I held no ill will toward Barron Eagleman Jr., I just didn’t want to marry the guy.

Mom became very interested in cutting the food on her plate. “They’re coming over for dinner next weekend. The whole family, that is. I mentioned that you might be back in town.”

And there it was. I grabbed Ramone’s hand and put our joined hands on the table with a thud. “I think Ramone and I have plans next weekend.”

“We do?” He looked up with a mouth full of salad. “I have a show this . . .”

“Shh. We do,” I interrupted. I pushed away Cici’s voice in the back of my head telling me I was latching on to the nearest nonconformist. This was different. It wasn’t like that at all.

“Oh, what do you have planned?” Mom’s voice dripped with sweetness.

She could tell I was bluffing. I knew it. “I don’t know. We might get married.” I didn’t even think it before I said it.

Ramone pulled his hand back. My parents both sucked in a breath so hard it made my hair move. Six eyes stared at me from around the table, and I didn’t want to look at any of them. The candelabra on the table was far more interesting to look at instead.

“Maggie, I don’t want to get married. I barely know you.” Ramone’s accent was more pronounced than I’d ever heard it.

I doubled down and I had no idea why. “Sure you do. We’ve been talking about it.” Not one single person with eyes or ears would have bought that bluff.

Ramone put his napkin on the table. “Mr. and Mrs. Vincent, it was very nice meeting you, but I have to excuse myself.”

My father spoke for the first time since we sat down at the table. “There’s already a cab waiting outside. I’ve gotten into the habit of calling them before dinner. Enjoy your evening.”