If you were a Transformer, you’d be Optimus Fine.
—DAVE F.
I woke up each day and I pretended I was fine. I smiled at Mama. I argued with Iris. I had lunch with Ali. I met with the library committee to discuss the upcoming council meeting. I read a book. But not a romance; my heart couldn’t handle it. I told everyone I was fine.
Mama played a game with me where she pretended I wasn’t lying to her. It went something like this:
“How are you feeling?” Mama would ask.
“I’m okay,” I’d say.
The truth was I felt like I was walking around with an open wound and no Band-Aid in the world could help it. So, I pretended. Except when I crawled into bed and Kevin plastered himself to my side and I stared at the engagement ring on my finger and cried stupid, useless tears.
When the morning came each day, I reminded myself that I’d made the right choice, the smart choice, the only choice, the best choice for Chris.
But sometimes when I got to work, I sat in my car and cried for fifteen minutes.
Ladies and gentlemen, I was not fine.
The first check came by certified mail two weeks later.
“Do you know what it is?” Mama asked.
I shook my head and stared at the legal-sized envelope, almost afraid to open it. Despite Chris’s request to leave me alone, it hadn’t stopped the emails, requests for interviews, a publisher reaching out and asking me to write a tell-all, and more than a few pieces of hate mail. Thankfully, the public’s reaction to Chris after his confession had been surprisingly positive and I’d read more than one article that praised him for his willingness to speak the truth.
“It can’t be too bad, it’s just an envelope.” Mama pushed it toward me. “Go on, open it.”
“It’s from a lawyer. It could be really bad.” Inside was an accounting sheet for “services rendered” and a check for $100,000. I held it out to Mama.
Her eyes widened. “So, he came through.”
A surprising wave of anger ripped through me. “I’m not keeping that. It’s going right back where it came from, thank you very much.” I snatched it off the table and stuffed it back in the envelope.
The next day before going to the library, I stopped at the post office and mailed it right back to the attorney with a note:
To Whom it May Concern,
I received this payment by mistake. Services were not rendered.
Thank you,
Mae Sampson
A week later and, to my great astonishment, it came back.
“I need your help.” Iris sounded more annoyed than anyone who needed help should sound.
I pressed the cell phone to my ear. “Go on.”
“The car won’t start.”
“Where are you?” She named a town thirty minutes away. “Why are you there? It’s after midnight. Which I seem to remember is your curfew.”
“Suggested curfew.”
“It’s amazing how you hear things so much differently than me.”
She sighed. “I need your help. Please.”
I resisted the urge to squeal with delight. Please? Oh, my. She was desperate.
“I’m on my way.”
Thirty minutes later, I pulled into the empty parking lot of a steakhouse and found Iris sitting on the hood of Mama’s car. I pulled in next to her. The parking lot was otherwise empty.
“Why are we in a steakhouse parking lot at one in the morning?”
Iris hopped down from the hood. “Because this is where I work.”
“What?” I stumbled climbing out of my car. “When did you get a job? You never said anything.”
She rolled her eyes. “Keeping secrets must be a family trait.”
To say Iris had taken the news of Dad’s involvement poorly was an understatement and somehow I was the one she’d decided to take it out on. She refused to talk about it at all except in a passing snide comment. It was exhausting. Normal Iris was a lot to handle; Angry Iris was taking your life in your hands if you dared approach her.
“What do you do here?” I asked, turning to look at the low brown building.
“I’m a server.”
I blinked. “You mean, for customers?”
“Yes. I’ve been here almost a year.”
“That’s why you’re late all the time? Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because I knew you’d be all ‘School is your job, blah, blah, blah.’”
“Was that supposed to be an imitation of me?” I arched an eyebrow. “Because it sucked.”
“Well, you suck,” Iris shot back.
I took a deep, calming-ish breath. “Go pop the hood so we can jump the car and get out of here.”
“Whatever.” Iris stomped to the driver’s side and practically tore the door open. “How do I pop the hood?”
“Seriously?”
“Just tell me, okay?” she snapped. “It’s not like I had a dad to show me how to do this stuff.”
Ouch. I crossed my arms. “Okay. Are we doing this now? Fine. Let’s do it. I get it. You hate me.”
She threw her arms in the air and yelled to the stars. “I don’t hate you, you idiot. I hate him. I hate that I’m related to him. I really hate that he tried to hurt one of the most important people in my life.”
I gaped at her.
Iris swung around to face me, her face red. “You know what else? I haven’t seen him in so long I can’t even make an accurate replica for a voodoo doll. And that Pisses. Me. Off. I hate that you and Mom kept so many things from me. You didn’t trust that I was mature enough to know what kind of person he is. I’m almost an adult and I’m smarter than you think.” She stalked closer. “I knew about your job at Chicky’s.”
I sort of sank into the side of my car. “No.”
“Yep. A kid from school went there with his dad and saw you. When he asked me about it, I played dumb but I started to wonder. I followed you one day and figured it out.”
“Oh, Iris.”
“Nope.” She wagged a finger in my direction. “Do not get all teary-eyed and emotional. You’ve cried a million times the last couple of weeks, and I hate that, too. You don’t cry. You’re… you’re Mae. You can handle anything.”
I sniffled. “I’m not sure I can handle anything anymore.”
“You know what makes me the most upset though? You were happy.”
I pulled in a shaky breath. “I was pretending.”
“You were not pretending.” She came closer. “Maybe you started out pretending. But you loved him… still love him. And he loved you. It was so obvious, even I could see it.”
And I hadn’t.
The tears slid down my face, unchecked. “Now I’m crying and it’s your fault.”
After a hesitation, she wrapped her arms around me. “Sorry.”
I nodded against her shoulder. When I got under control, I untangled myself and we both leaned against the car in silence.
“Aidan asked me to the prom,” she said suddenly.
“He finally did it. What did you say?”
“Obviously I said yes. He’s adorable.”
I laughed.
“You want to go dress shopping with me?”
“I’d love to.”
“Cool.”
“We should probably jump your car. I want to go home and go to bed.”
“Fine.” Iris walked back to the driver’s side of her car. “But, seriously, how do I pop the hood?”
