Testimony from Your Perfect Girl

My parents and Sammy have left for Denver. Usually I feel free when both parents are gone, but instead I’m unsure of every step. I walk down the hall to my brother’s room to rally him into being negative with me.

“Knock, knock,” I say when I reach his open door.

He looks up from his guitar, fingers still poised to pluck. Jay is a senior. He puts little effort into getting people to like him, and yet everyone does.

His girlfriend, Sadie, is on his bed, lying down all casually, but she’s totally trying to be sexy, and it looks false, like a model in a magazine striking an unlikely pose on a park bench. She looks like she’s about to crawl through a low tunnel. Loose curls and dark full eyebrows hold her face in place. Her anime-like eyes are set above high cheekbones. I can’t imagine being so relaxed, so overtly sexual. My freshman year, I went out with a junior—a lacrosse player who ended up cheating on me with someone from his class. A girl like Sadie, whose every move is designed for others to see. I wouldn’t have sex with him. So he found someone who would.

“Are you packed?” I ask Jay.

“Yup,” he says.

He strums on his guitar. His clothes are draped over his desk chair, still on their hangers.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving,” Sadie says. When she talks, it sounds like she’s gagging on her words.

“It’ll be fine,” Jay says, as if egging on a friend to jump off a bridge with him.

“So you’re happy with this situation?” I lean against his door.

“Of course I’m not happy,” he says.

“I’m the opposite of happy,” Sadie says.

“So you guys are the same,” I say, and Sadie seems to be figuring out some complicated math.

“I don’t see why you can’t live with me,” she says.

Jay shrugs. I have a feeling he isn’t terribly put out, that he can cope just fine with a little distance from her. As with every girl he’s been with, she’s like Velcro.

I look out his window to the same view I have of the backyard, guesthouse, pool, and aspen forest. I wonder what our new view will be like. What’s happening to us? Jay looks up from the guitar and sings while making eye contact. I can tell he’s feeling the same way—worried about the future—but we’re both tamping things down, either trying to protect or outlast one another.

“What if your dad doesn’t, like, win?” Sadie asks. She looks around the room as if afraid to lose something that isn’t even hers. “Could he go to jail? I mean, serial killers are in jail.” Her butt tilts up, punctuating her fear.

“Really, Sadie?” I say. “They put serial killers in jail? No way!”

“Hon, it’s not that kind of jail,” Jay says to her. “Remember Martha Stewart? When she went to prison, she taught yoga and made a nativity scene out of ceramics. Plus, my dad doesn’t lose.” 

 “And he didn’t do anything wrong,” I say. And Jay’s right. Dad doesn’t lose and he never settles, which makes me think of Cee and her dad. What are they thinking? What happened?

I text her again:

I know ur dad’s testifying. Why? Talk!

“Are you almost ready?” I ask.

“Yup,” he says.

“I’ll be downstairs.” I head down, looking at my phone, the dots telling me she’s typing, erasing, typing. Finally, a message:

We R done.