Fallout by Ellen Hopkins
Return for alcohol-absorbing pasta.
(Finish one drink; start second.)
Third trip is to the carving board.
(Polish off drink two. Back to bar.)
Finally, dessert. Chocolate cheesecake.
(Work on third—really fourth—JD.)
I think I’m doing pretty well.
(No way to converse when imbibing.)
And then Brendan starts talking.
(About how Sparks has grown. Swallow.)
Reminiscing about Wild Waters.
(His lifeguard days. Single-gulp glass drain.)
THE WASP BUZZ INTENSIFIES
Only Nikki seems to notice.
She shoots me a warning
glance. But it’s too late.
I stop Brendan midsentence.
“So … do y-you ’member
a girl name Kr-Kristina?” Damn
booze. Damn mud daubing.
I want to be coherent.
Brendan’s forehead wrinkles.
He thinks a minute, finally replies,
Kristina? Sounds familiar.
Why? Should I know her?
Nikki’s hand lights gently
on my arm. I swat it away,
one of those bees. “You might
have known her as Bree.”
Bam! Recognition floods
his eyes. Bree. Yes. I knew her.
Clearly, he doesn’t want to say
more. That was a long time ago.
Nikki is close to panic.
Uh, hon, would you get me
another glass of wine? Please?
She looks at me helplessly.
Buzz. Buzz. “Just a minute,
okay?” Buzzzzz. The entire
table is staring now. Good.
This deserves an audience.
“I don’t suppose you remember
a certain night, up on Mount Rose.
Just you and her and a little
crank …” Loud. Too loud.
But he definitely remembers.
Now, look. That was a long,
long time ago and—wait.
What do you know about it?
“Dude, the whole world—well,
a lot of it, anyway—knows
what you did to her that night.
I know because …” The rest
sticks like tar in my throat.
My face is hot and my eyes
sting and oh my God, I will
not cry. Nikki is on her feet.
Montana is too. Brendan just
stares stupidly, waiting for me
to finish. So here goes, “I know
because I’m her son and …”
CAN’T CONFESS EVERYTHING
I just can’t. But I can still
accuse. “She said you raped
her, you son of a bitch.”
My hands clench, but I’m not
going to hit him. Not now.
Not here. Instead I start across
the wide expanse of floor.
I expect Nikki to come, but it
is not her butterfly hand that lights
on my shoulder just as I exit
the big ballroom doors. Hold
on. I think we should talk.
I whip around, dislodging
myself from his grip. Buzz.
“What the fuck do you want?”
People stare. But Brendan
doesn’t care. Come on.
Let’s sit over there, okay?
He knows better than to
touch me again. For some
insane reason, I follow him.
The casino carpet is purple
with wavy green lines, and
it’s making me seasick.
I will myself not to puke,
and we sit in some eggplant-
colored chairs at the far end
of the foyer. I can’t look at him
as he launches his story. Yes,
I knew Bree … Kristina. We went
out a few times, and we did
a lot of crank together. All true.
That night—the one you mentioned—
we were messed up. Wasted, in
fact. Now, I don’t know …
Have you ever done meth?
I have no choice but to
look him straight in the eye.
I shake my head. “Never.”
Well, here’s the deal with meth.
You’re not always in control,
and that night everything got out
of hand. I’m not proud of what
happened, but the truth is,
she kind of asked for it….
Bzzzzzzz. My face flames.
“Is that what you wanted
to tell me? Because it’s not
good enough. You forced
yourself on her when she
said no and that’s rape.”
His turn to shake his head.
Like I said, I don’t take pride
in it, or in much of my life
at that time. I did drugs.
Did girls. Stole. Cheated.
Lied. The reason I joined
the army? A judge gave me
the choice—military or a long
time in jail. I’m glad now.
I got clean. Disciplined. Did
my time and went back, hoping
to maybe make up for before.
I WANT TO KEEP HATING HIM
But he sounds
reasonable
honest
apologetic.
I want to keep blaming him.
But somehow I
believe him
relate to him
almost forgive him.
I want to keep berating him.
But words don’t
make sense
seem wise
matter anyway.
I want to keep thinking he’s the enemy.
But suddenly he’s
just a man
not a monster
no longer a stranger.
My father.
THE BUZZ QUIETS
Blood pressure drops.
Anger dissipates, ghostlike.
But I’m still just this side
of wasted drunk. Enough
for me to open my mouth
and say, “Did you know
Kristina got pregnant that
night?” I think surprise
should surface in his eyes.
Instead he says, Actually, yes.
She sort of blackmailed
me into abortion money.
A half laugh stutters out.
“You still don’t get it, do you?
I’m that baby. And you, quite
probably, are my biological father.”
HIS JAW PLUMMETS
And that alone is almost worth
every emotion I’ve lately
sorted through. “Really.
I mean, hello. Have you
not noticed a resemblance?
Did it not cross your mind?”
His eyes—my eyes—scan
my face. It never occurred—
I mean, I saw her mom with a baby,
once. You, I guess. But I thought he—
you—she said—Oh my God.
Why didn’t anyone ever tell me?
“Why? What would you
have done? Married her and
played house for a while?
Look, I don’t expect anything
from you. My grandparents
adopted me, gave me a great
childhood. Better than you
or Kristina ever could have.
I just thought you ought to know.”
OUR EYES LOCK
Green-marbled gray
to green-marbled gray.
But really, there’s not
a whole lot more to say,
except, “Why did you
come back
He shrugs. This is home.
My mom died two
years ago, but my dad
still lives in Fernley.
Blood is thick, you know?
He chokes on the sentence.
I have a grandfather
in Fernley. Maybe we’ll
meet one day. Maybe he
listens to me on the radio.
Oh. He’s old. Probably
not exactly an X listener.
Brendan gets to his feet,
and I notice that Montana
and Nikki are standing
a respectful distance away.
Uh, look. This is kind of
a lot to absorb and …
I stand too. “Like I said,
I don’t expect anything
at all from you. So no
worries about blood tests.
I’m an adult, and I can
take care of myself.”
We start toward the girls.
Montana looks wary.
Guess I have to tell
the story twice, huh?
Oh, well. Relationships
shouldn’t have secrets.
Suddenly I notice
Nikki’s stance. She’s
pissed. Maybe even
more than pissed.
Because of what just
happened? It’s all good.
EXCEPT IT’S NOT
Brendan shakes my hand,
takes Montana’s arm, and they
return to the party. I reach for
Nikki, but she yanks away.
She hands me my jacket,
which I left on a chair,
holds out my cell phone
between two fingers,
like it’s poison. Heard it
ring and thought it might
be important. By the time
I dug it out of your jacket
it had gone to voice mail.
Her own voice crackles.
Sorry, but I went ahead and
picked up the message.
She straightens, squares
her shoulders, and I know
I’m in trouble. It was from
some girl named Leah….
Autumn
ONE DAY
Until the wedding. One week
until Christmas, such as it will be.
School just let out for vacation.
And there’s so much to do.
Shopping. Manicure. Rehearsal
dinner tonight. More shopping.
Hair appointment. Studio
portrait. More shopping.
I wish I could be excited
about it. But all I want to do
is hole up in my room with a little
borrowed liquor and think
about ways to be with Bryce.
It wasn’t so hard when school
was still in. But this week
will offer many challenges
as far as spending time
together. Sneaking out
when Grandfather passes
out is the only way I know.
PILFERING BOOZE
Sneaking out.
Hooking up with
Bryce for sex.
I can’t believe this
is me I’m talking
about. It’s like I’m
on a runaway train.
I want to jump off
but it’s not slowing
down and taking
that leap would
kill me for sure.
And the wonderful
irony is I used to
think about dying.
Maybe even by my
own hand, if things
turned too, too bleak.
But now I want to
live. Want to love.
Want to be loved.
I have to keep on
riding this train
for that to happen.
TRAINS LIKE THIS
Generally wreck sooner or later.
So far so good, though.
Grandfather has not missed
the short pours of whiskey
I’ve indulged in lately. They say
liquor is quicker, and whiskey
is definitely quicker than champagne
when it comes to a good buzz.
A shot or two, nothing scares me,
nothing hurts me. I like how that feels.
The weird thing is, Grandfather’s
own drinking has waned. It’s as if
the wedding planning has reduced
his stress. I don’t understand why.
I do know I’ll have to find a way
to replace what I’ve taken from
the liquor cabinet before he swings
the other way again. Bound to happen
after tomorrow. Once the wedding
is over. The reception done,
and Aunt Cora and Liam go off
on their honeymoon, return
to their new house in Austin.
They decided to live there, near
his family instead of hers (mine), go
into business together. Massaging
the uptight of Austin. That thought
is good for another swallow. Hot
liquid amber down my throat. Better.
Almost good enough to deal
with lingerie shopping. Aunt Cora
should be here to pick me up
any time. Okay, just a quick nip and
then I’d better use some mouthwash.
The worst thing about whiskey
is the smell it leaves behind.
LISTERINE ROCKS
Aunt Cora doesn’t notice a thing
on the drive to the mall. I close
my eyes, lean back into the seat,
absorbing radio music and traffic
music and the music of Aunt Cora’s
voice. Something about dresses.
Something about the hotel where
you get to stay tonight. Something
about pick you up at eleven sharp.
And something that really grabs
my attention. So, okay. Are we going
to meet your Bryce tomorrow?
Just the name makes me smile.
“Last time we talked, he promised
he’d be there. On time, even.”
She laughs. You didn’t give him
a hard time, did you? I mean about
being punctual. No wedding starts
exactly when it’s supposed to.
There’s always some sort of delay.
Don’t know why that is, but it is.
“If you say so.” Not like I’d have
a clue. “I’ve never been to a wedding.”
Not like she doesn’t know that.
“Yours will be my first.” And hopefully
not my last. I want one of my own
before too very long. The amazing
thing is Bryce hasn’t even asked
about protection. Maybe he wants
me to get pregnant too.
“Are you going to have a baby?”
Her smile drops away. “I don’t
mean right now. But ever?”
She looks like she has something
she wants to tell me. But the mall
has suddenly reached our line
of sight. She perks up and says,
Who knows what the future might
bring? Let’s start with underwear.
UNDERWEAR SHOPPING
Is likewise something I’ve never
done. Well, I mean Wal-Mart undie
shopping is one thing. Upscale
bras and panties is all new.
And radical. There are even
salesladies who are trained to
fit you right, and tell you what kind
of bra will flatter you best. It’s kind
of embarrassing. If it wasn’t for
the whiskey, I’d be freaking out.
Only problem is, now that it’s
wearing off some, I’m getting
a headache. Hope it doesn’t
get worse. Anyway, Aunt Cora
and I take our fancy understuff
up to the counter. In her pile:
three stretch lace thongs, two gel
underwires, and a teeny purple teddy,
for the honeymoon. In my pile: red
velvet panties, matching push-up bra.
BOY, DOES THAT ADD UP
Almost one hundred fifty big
ones! “Uh, are you sure you can
afford that? I can wear my old—”
Aunt Cora stops me. This day
is only going to happen once.
Besides … She reaches into
her wallet, fishes out a shiny new
credit card. Liam’s mom gave me
this. Said to get anything my little
heart desired. She knows Daddy
doesn’t have a bottomless bank
account. I guess she does.
I think back to Thanksgiving and
the Cregan place. Big house.
Nice furniture. Pretty backyard.
Pricey (if unremarkable) neighborhood,
the same one where Aunt Cora
and Liam will live, thanks to a big
down payment wedding gift.
Aunt Cora will be well cared for.
Do I feel good about that?
THE QUESTION NAGS
The rest of the afternoon.
Through manicure.
Pedicure.
(And just who wants a job
dealing with scaly feet?)
Trousseau shopping.
Christmas shopping.
(And why does Aunt Cora
think Liam wants pj’s?)
Makeup shopping.
Window shopping.
(And by now I’m getting
totally sick of shopping.)
Stuffing the car with
packages. Gassing up.
(And I majorly wish I had
an ibuprofen in my purse.)
Driving the eighty
miles to Austin.
(And now the nagging
question really gets loud.)
Am I happy that Liam will
care well for Aunt Cora?
(And will she be happy when
Bryce is taking care of me?)
STUPID FANTASY, I KNOW
But at least Bryce is a real guy, not
a vampire or something. Fantasy
minus the fangs. Sounds good
to me, especially if there ever
is a baby involved in this story.
Meanwhile, we have arrived
at the hotel, and it is not
what you might call a dive.