Watch Me Disappear

he’s joking or not. “Thanks,” I say, an edge of sarcasm in my voice.
    “No, seriously,” he says. “It was nice talking to you. You’re honest. I like it.”
    “Oh, okay,” I say.
    “And for the record,” he says, “I don’t drink, so you don’t have to spend the rest of your life imagining what might have happened the night you got in the car with a drunk.”
    “But you put a beer in my hand.”
    “John’s not much of a host, so I help him keep the party going.”
    “Ok, well that’s a conversation for another day, because right now, I have to get inside before my mother comes out here and gets me.”
    “Until next time,” he says. “And don’t forget to talk me up to Missy,” he calls as I shut the door.
     
    *          *          *
     
    This morning Missy called and gushed a stream of apologies before I could get a word in. It was not what I expected. I thought she might be pissed that I left without at least attempting to tell her. I would have been wild with rage to be ditched at a party. Then again, I was pretty upset that she had left no choice but to get another ride home. It was hard to imagine what scenario wouldn’t have pissed me off at least a little bit.
    “I lost track of the time,” she said. Then she launched into an explanation of how Wes was showing her the constellations, which sounded to me like a euphemism for something dirty, but she insisted it was just about stars. “But hey, look on the bright side—you got a ride home from a really hot guy,” Missy concluded, apparently hoping we could just put the whole mess behind us.
    “Oh, right. About that. He’s in love with you.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “He said I should tell you how great he is and how you should dump Wes for him.”
    “Knock it off, Lizzie. It’s not funny. You know, at Maura’s party when you were melodramatic about Hunter asking who I was, I let it go, but—”
    “Not funny? Like realizing you might be grounded for the rest of your life because your ride is off in the woods with her boyfriend and forgot about you?” I was exaggerating just to make her feel bad. I wasn’t fighting fair and I knew it and I didn’t care.
    “I’m seriously so sorry.” She did sound contrite.
    “Yeah, well I’m seriously telling you that Paul is into you and he wanted me to let you know.”
    “Because he asked who I was?” she asked.
    “Because he said, ‘Your friend Missy is hot and I want to bang her.’”
    “Lizzie!”
    “I’m just telling you what he said.”
    “Look, I know last night was a disaster, and you have every right to be mad at me, but I am sorry, and in the end it turned out ok, right? You made it home in time for curfew, so no problem?”
    “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”
    “And you know, Lizzie, I think you’re being unfair to me right now. I was pretty worried when I couldn’t find you, and then when someone told me you left, I was completely convinced you were going to be front page news this morning, dead in a car accident because of some stupid kid drinking and driving. I was really glad when you answered the phone.”
    How could I not feel guilty after a speech like that? Like I said, sometimes I’m so self-centered, and I don’t even know it until someone calls me on it. I apologized.
    Then Missy returned to her upbeat self. “So seriously, Paul thinks I’m cute?” she asked, switching instantaneously from guilty to giggly.
    We laughed and Missy told me what I missed as the party wore on. Not much.
    So we had our first fight and then it was over and it was okay. It wasn’t like fighting with my mother, where the same petty problems are the subject of days of lengthy tense discussions and occasional shouting matches, where the implication is always, why aren’t you the way I want you to be? Missy didn’t want me to be anything other than myself.
     

Chapter 9
     
     
    Missy doesn’t have much time on her hands these days. Last Thursday morning, Anna had a baby boy—Lucas Ryan Howston, 9 pounds 4 ounces. Then Monday, Missy’s cross country practices started. Between her practice schedule and her enthusiasm to be her mother’s helpmate, she’s too busy for much else. She keeps suggesting that I come over, but my mother feels it’s terrible timing for our parents to meet “with all her parents have going on,” so I am still banned from her house. One afternoon, Anna even got on the phone when Missy and I were talking and