American Girls

Chapter One

November 1984

Thora doesn’t want to be here, but it’s time she had some fun. She always says she would rather be reading than hanging out with people, but sometimes she doesn’t know what’s best for her. Sitting in a rocking chair in the corner of our living room with a stack of books written by a bunch of dead people isn’t healthy, but she doesn’t take my word for it.

Our parents, for once, were helpful in getting her to agree to come with me tonight. I don’t know anyone else with parents who would ever tell their kids they should go to a party instead of staying home and playing Clue with the old folks.

My sister’s super long, super straight dark hair is still, unmoving as she walks posture-perfect across the room to talk to someone she notices from her English class as soon as we step into the house, leaving my best friend Angie and me to scope out the bodies here.

I’m already sweating, it’s so hot and gross, Angie complains, covering her forehead with the palm of her hand. I notice she’s painted her nails a bright, glittery pink, and smile.

Manicures with Barbie again, huh?

She rolls her eyes and her sapphire blue mascara, layered on in thick clumps, flakes onto her cheeks. I reach out and brush it off, and she smiles her thanks.

Wow.

With one word, she tells me she’s spotted one of her crushes. Lately she’s been all about the art club dorks, and I have to admit some of them have a certain hard-to-get appeal, even if they often have flakes of paint in their hair and charcoal on their discolored fingers.

Ow, slow down, Angie, I grumble as I bang my knee on a side table. She doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care, but a boy’s voice distracts me from keeping an eye on her as she keeps moving forward.

Hey, careful there.

Matt Walker, complete with letter jacket and feathery blonde hair, is holding my elbow as if he’s worried I’ll fall.

I know everyone who’s anyone at Patterson Park High, and Matt is definitely a member of that category. Rumor has it he’s kissed every cheerleader, and more than one of them went all the way with him.

The idea of it brings my sister to mind, and I glance away so I can check to be sure she’s still in sight, on the other side of the crowded room with her English class comrade.

She isn’t.

You okay?

Matt’s voice sounds genuinely concerned, and not like he’s trying to score with me at all. Kissing would be one thing, and I wouldn’t turn him down since I’m in-between boyfriends at the moment. But a boy like him with so much experience would expect more, wouldn’t he?

Yeah, thanks, Matt. I’m looking for Thora.

A burst of cigarette smoke wafts over my head and I can’t help but cough. I flap my hand around my face without thinking, like it’s going to make a difference, and Matt grabs my hand out of the air.

I’ll go with you, he says, sure of himself. I could say no and pull my hand back, but I don’t.

If Thora is with a guy, it’ll help to have another one with me to get rid of him. It’s not like Thora would be able to handle a boy on her own, not when the only ones she ever really focused on were in the pages of her books.

When Matt steps in front of me and heads towards the stairs, I follow, my banged up knee forgotten. The split level house, one of several in a row on this street, is exactly the same as the one I live in with Thora and our parents, so I know exactly where each room will be.

You want something to drink? Some chips?

Boys are always eating, so I’m not surprised when he gazes longingly into the kitchen at the top of the stairs. Our hands are still together, the pressure from his enough to remind me that he's the one who initiated the contact. I tug at him hard.

I need to find my sister. She’s not used to parties like this.

Matt looks back to me and frowns.

Yeah, I was wondering what she was doing here when I saw you guys come in.

I don’t answer, but it bothers me that he was thinking of her even before he started talking to me. Is he clinging to me now because he’s interested in her?

He’ll end up hunched over with his balls in his hands if he even thinks of laying a hand on her, but he’ll have to find that out the hard way.

I respond to various greetings as Metallica booms from monstrous wood-framed speakers lined up along the windows of the living room, mouthing hello and hey soundlessly because there’s no point in competing with For Whom the Bell Tolls.

Thora is laughing, bobbing her head as some girls I vaguely recognize imitate her movements. When her lips move and I can see that the words she shapes with them are the lyrics to the song, I am stunned. Since when does she listen to thrash?

The girls are huddled together in the dividing space between the dining room and living room, barely visible as I tilt my head to peek around the corner.

Looks like she’s okay, Vic.

Matt’s words don’t reassure me, but it’s true. No one is hitting on her, and the girls she’s with are all wearing dark jeans and loose pastel blouses, like they called each other this afternoon and arranged to dress like a faded rainbow tonight. No boy is going to bother with any of them, so I guess Thora is safe for now.

You want a beer?

I don’t realize that Matt is trying to get my attention until he steps in front of me, blocking my view of my sister. Maybe I should try to find Angie, too, but she can take care of herself. It’s not like we can’t walk home apart if we don’t meet up again, since we live a few streets over from both this house and each other.

Nah, I don’t like beer. A wine cooler?

I raise my eyebrows, waiting to see how he’ll respond. Every girl prefers a wine cooler, and since the party started long before Angie, Thora, and I arrived, there can’t possibly be any left in the refrigerator or wherever the drinks are kept.

Hang on, he walks a few steps backwards but keeps his hand tightly in mine. With a few hand gestures, he attracts the attention of a couple of his teammates, who are at his side in minutes.

Here’s my car keys. Can you go to Dovey’s and pick up some wine coolers?

His voice trails off and he looks at me just as I’m ready to glance back at Thora.

What flavor do you like?

I shrug. Does it matter?

Matt says a few more words to his friends, and they take the keys along with some dollar bills from his hand. I don’t remember seeing him take those out of his pocket or a wallet, but my eyes have been straying back to my sister and her bookworm companions, so he could be pulling a rabbit from a hat for all I care.

What’s going on with you two?

When Matt’s attention swings back to me, I shrug again and shake my head.

Nothing, just want to make sure no one hassles her.

He follows my gaze, and then I feel his coat brush up against me as he moves closer.

Aren’t you hot in that thing? I ask, and my face scrunches up as I imagine how stinky and damp he must be under the heavy material.

As he leans in, though, all I smell is Ivory soap and something else, something warm and masculine, almost comforting.

Our faces are inches apart now, and his gray-green eyes are intent on mine.

I’ll take it off once we settle in somewhere. No pressure, though.

Thora’s smile is distant in my thoughts, and I wonder if I can replace my concern for her with a few stolen moments with this gorgeous boy.

With his friends headed for the drive-thru liquor store ten minutes away, the only one close by that sells to minors, and Thora in the hands of girls less likely to rub up against our male classmates than she is, I figure Matt and I can get to know each other better without any worries.

There’s an argument behind me as the music fades and someone who would rather listen to Madonna is protesting more loudly than she needs to be now the bass line has gone quiet.

Matt is two years older than me, a senior, and if the rumors are correct, he knows what he’s doing. It wouldn’t hurt to see what I’m missing with boys my own age, although I’m not ready for anything too serious.

Or too physical.

His eyes are questioning, and his thumb rubs lightly over my fingers. I resist the temptation to look over at my sister again, and offer him what I hope is a sweet and slightly seductive smile as I tilt my head towards the stairs we climbed not together not too long ago.

Want to take a walk?

It’s not like I want to go outside, not with the pools of dried leaves and bitter cold air that is already overwhelming the Northeast Ohio landscape, but I think he knows what I mean because he stands up proudly, as if he’s won a prize.

WINE COOLERS AND BEER are long forgotten as we settle into an oversized chair together after Matt brushes away evidence of pretzels and chips on the pale green square cushion.

He sheds his letter jacket, tucking it between the chair and a table so it isn’t visible.

We fit together well, with me on his lap and his arm around me so I don’t fall back over the arm of the chair, which is large enough to sit on comfortably. He doesn’t slobber or shove his tongue down my throat like some of the other boys I’ve kissed, and I like him more already because of it.

Why are you smiling? he asks, his own perfect pink lips turned up as a mirror of my own.

He pats at the side of my head, which is matted down with Aqua Net, and I cringe until he finds an unsprayed section underneath the feathered wing and begins to stroke the back of my neck.

My own arms wrap around his neck and his back, and his muscles tighten as we press against each other until I pull away to catch my breath.

Are you okay? he asks in a soft whisper as the arm he had around me tightens up, as if I would fall over the side of the chair if he didn’t hold me up. He trails the fingers of his other hand over my cheek gently, and I hold back a sigh.

He really knows what he’s doing. Before I can answer him, though, he blinks a few times, glancing down before looking into my eyes again.

I noticed you last year, but I thought you were too young, you know. I didn’t want to seem like some kind of pervert.

The tension in his back releases under my fingers as he continues.

You always seem to be having fun, and I think you’re beautiful.

It is a simple statement, but I believe in the honesty of his words as I wiggle so I can sit up more. He helps me with a push on my back, and we are sitting now with our heads even, talking instead of kissing.

A flash of red beside me catches my eye, and I glance over as a scarlet coat whirls out of my view. Once it’s gone, though, I see Thora, and scramble off Matt’s lap.

What? he asks, his voice confused.

I don’t answer, because my sister is sitting on the sofa across the room from us, one of her hips pressed against the inside of the sofa’s arm. Her other hip is pressed up against that of Chris Berg, senior football captain, as the two of them speak together, their heads as close as Matt’s and mine just were.

Chapter Two

May 2007

Thora doesn’t look much different from the last time I saw her, at Christmas, which is a good thing. She is busy in the dining room when Dave and I walk in through the front door, and I glance at her quickly before introducing my boyfriend to my parents.

For a long time, I was afraid to come home. Afraid to see how thin my sister had become, afraid to hear the lies that slipped from her lips so easily, the insistence that she was fine, everything was great. She never complained, never asked for help. She never needed anyone.

Doesn’t she look radiant? Even at her age, she could pass for a much younger first-time bride, don’t you think?

My mother chatters at me as I hang up my clothes for the long weekend, in my old closet in my childhood bedroom, which looks exactly the same as it did back when Thora and I shared it over two decades ago, down to the puffy comforters in colors we hated.

I glance at her with a tight smile, hoping it will reassure her. Every time Thora has left home, first for college, then several attempts after graduation at living on her own or with a variety of roommates, she’s returned, and under difficult circumstances.

The lines at the edges of my mother’s eyes are deeper than I remember, and I know she is conflicted about losing Thora, even if it is for a happy event.

Even when Thora and I are nearly forty, and I’ve been through enough marriages to cover us both. Hopefully Thora will be more successful at being a wife than I’ve been.

Do you need any help? Anything you need me to pick up from the store?

She rests a hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently, as if she’s unsure if I will mind being touched as I offer to contribute in whatever way she will allow me.

You know, I might. You know those candy almonds? I was just thinking I forgot to get them for the reception.

My smile grows more sincere, and I wonder if there is a part of me that still aches for her approval.

Dave and I can head out before the rehearsal to find some. I’m guessing the bulk shop? Or the party store?

My mother’s hand slides down my arm and stops at my hand briefly before letting go. She’s tired of the men, the husbands, I have collected over the past ten years, just as I have tired of hoping for success in that arena myself.

I’m past searching for that anymore, but I do have a date for Thora’s wedding, and he’s downstairs with my dad, drinking coffee and playing at getting to know each other. Dave doesn’t know everything about me yet, but I’ve warned him about my parents.

About Thora.

My fingers itch for a cigarette, although I quit nearly two years ago, right after my third divorce.

What time do we need to be at the church?

Without letting her comment on my last question, I keep the conversation going. Awkward silences are all too common within these walls, and I am determined not to fall into any vast pits of guilt or depression this weekend, so I’m going to avoid any triggers.

Staying here in my old bedroom is unavoidable, though, unless Dave and I get a hotel room in the next town. Doing that would be the same as not coming for Thora’s wedding at all, in my parents’ eyes.

Her failure to respond to my question immediately feels like an invitation to begin the self-loathing process, so I back away and grab my purse from my old bed.

The twin beds still wear their matching comforters, a gift from my parents for our thirteenth birthdays. The difference is Thora’s is a faded pink and mine is a shock of purple, the quilted pattern of daisies the same.

Now that Thora lives with her fiancé, no one sleeps here, and there is nothing important left of either of us except the secrets we share, memories of our adolescence ending and our lives unraveling within these few square feet.

I push my suitcase aside so my mother doesn’t have to walk around it. Dave’s is downstairs, waiting with him for me to decide if I want him to sleep in here with me for the next few nights, or if he will be relegated to the sofa bed in the lower level family room as my parents expect.

When I brought my third husband, Nathan, to meet them, I didn’t question their insistence that he sleep apart from me, although he whined about such an archaic custom. Now, though, I don’t want to be alone, without Dave, in this room.

We’ve been together long enough for him to know more, and while he hasn’t pushed for details, after six months it’s time to let him in, although I’m not sure how much.

He seems like a very nice man, Victoria. Maybe this time everything will work out for you, my mother says as she stares at her feet while we walk down the stairs together, her movements a little ahead of mine. Perhaps you have better judgment now. It comes with age and wisdom.

Nothing she says is going to be positive, despite what I hope are her good intentions. I’m used to it, but it stings all the same, like the slap on my hand she gave me when I stole a candy bar from the grocery store when I was in kindergarten.

I don’t know how Thora has done it, staying here all these years, but her experience with our parents is different from mine. She feeds on whatever lurks here, and it has stalked her so she hasn’t been able to leave it behind.

Hopefully this man and this marriage will give her the break from it she so desperately needs.

Thora is loading tall, thin glass vases into a box on the dining room table, her back to us as we walk by. I glance at her, at the uneven tips of her bobbed hair, shorter than I have ever seen it before. It suits her, and I plan to tell her so later, but only when there are a lot of other people around.

We never talk unless that cushion surrounds us.

Dave is smiling at my dad as he leans onto the kitchen table, relaxed and comfortable. I wonder at how easy this is for him, but he’s never been here before, and none of these people have any sort of hold over him.

Hey, I smile carefully as I glance at my dad, although my greeting is aimed at Dave. He reaches out and offers his hand, and I take it, my eyes focused on my dad’s expression.

Well, now, are we about ready to head out?

My mother stands behind my dad as he asks, his question rhetorical. If he says it’s time to go, it’s time to go.

Dave stands up, letting go of my hand, then pushes his chair under the table. My mother nods her approval, and the knot in my stomach tightens as I turn away to give my attention to him. I don’t know much about Thora’s fiancé or the wedding plans they’ve made, but I am determined to stay out of it emotionally.

If I can.

Victoria and Dave are going to stop by the store to get those almonds, Thora. Isn’t that helpful?

When my sister moves silently into the kitchen, my mother’s voice greets her loudly, as if Thora is hard of hearing. She isn’t.

My eyes are still on Dave, and I watch his smile falter a bit when he glances at Thora. Can he see the emptiness there?

You told me the two of you don’t look much alike, for twins, but I see it, he offers in an awed tone. There’s something, now you’re both here together, but it’s more than the eyes.

Thora and I both have dark blue eyes. My last high school boyfriend said they reminded him of the night sky. I haven’t thought of Matt in a long time, and I make an effort to keep my shoulders from hunching up as I banish him to the past, where he belongs.

Of course they look alike. I can’t imagine why she would say such a thing.

My mother’s eyes grow wide as she chastises me in the third person, like I am a small child who has committed an embarrassing social faux pas. Thora doesn’t move, and while I am looking from my mother to Dave without turning my head, and I can sense the tension that runs through her like an electric current as she speaks.

"Thank you for buying the almonds. Dominic says