Part 12 (1/2)

”Believe me, I'm trying.” I roll my eyes.

”Whatever. I wish I had your problems. Are you going to the dance tonight?”

”No, I work.” I start to head toward the doors.

Tanya trails after me. ”So, about my friend, Bobo...”

Chapter 11.

I should creep right back out the front door when I hear Mich.e.l.le and Derek fighting, but I've never heard them like this before. I've never heard Uncle Derek sound this mad, and Mich.e.l.le is crying.

It's that last thing that has me bursting into the living room, unannounced.

”I did it!” I say before taking in the scene. ”I sent it to her.”

Mich.e.l.le and Derek are standing in front of their brown suede couch, both rigid with tension. Derek is holding a white box in one hand, and Mich.e.l.le is standing in front of him, tears streaming down her face. They both turn to stare at me.

”Juliet...what are you doing here?” Derek shakes his head, both confused and frustrated.

”I, uh, knocked. I couldn't help but overhear.” I clear my throat nervously. ”Um, Uncle Derek? I sent Mich.e.l.le a gift as a thank you for helping me with...some stuff I was going through. Break up stuff, you know?”

Derek arches a blonde eyebrow at me. ”You sent your aunt lingerie as a thank you gift?”

He pulls something red, lacy, and silky from the box, dangling it in the air for emphasis.

My eyes grow huge and my mouth drops open. I don't dare look at Mich.e.l.le, who has grown deathly silent.

Quickly recovering, I replace my shocked look with a bland one. ”Oh, yeah. It's a girl thing, you know? She had mentioned she wanted to spice things up in the bedroom...” I trail off with an uncomfortable chuckle. Mich.e.l.le whimpers very quietly, letting me know I've just digging a deeper hole for the both of us.

”I suppose you sent her this note, too?”

Note? Oh, s.h.i.+t.

Derek is holding a square piece of paper in his meaty hand. ”'I can't wait to see this on you,'” he reads from it.

I can't even look at them. I run my fingers along the seam of the couch, speaking in a tiny voice. ”Is that not appropriate?”

There is a brutal silence, then an explosive exhalation.

”I'm outta here,” Uncle Derek mutters. He storms away.

Only when I hear the front door slam do I dare look at my aunt. She's frozen to the spot, staring at me in disbelief.

”I'm sorry!” I blurt out. ”I was only trying to help!”

Mich.e.l.le closes her eyes, shoulders slumping. ”I just about had him convinced it was from Yanni.”

”Oh.” I bite my lip. ”Yeah, that would have made more sense. Sorry.”

Mich.e.l.le opens her eyes again. ”Not your fault,” she says wearily, dropping onto the couch.

Tentatively, I come around and sit next to her. ”So, who's it really from?”

She doesn't say anything for a minute, and just when I think she's not going to answer me, she starts talking.

”There's this new guy at work. He's really cute, and funny-and he's been flirting with me a lot. At first, I just joked around with him-you know, teased him back...silly harmless stuff. Then we got to talking, and he's-he's really great. We seem to have a lot in common, and he really listens to me, you know? Things just got out of hand.”

I stare at her, dread filling my stomach. ”You didn't...?”

”Oh-no! I swear to G.o.d, I didn't let it get that far. s.h.i.+t.” She plants her face in her hands. ”I didn't even know he had my address!”

”Well, what was he thinking, sending it here?”

Mich.e.l.le's reply is m.u.f.fled and incomprehensible.

”What?” I say.

She briefly lifts her head up. ”He doesn't know I'm married,” she confesses, before dropping her face back into her hands.

”Oh, Mich.e.l.le,” I groan. She is so pathetic that I try to rub her back comfortingly. ”At least you haven't done anything yet. Right?”

”I'm not talking about this with my niece,” she mumbles.

”Why not? I'm old enough to know that these things happen, and I know the difference between right and wrong. Just talk to Uncle Derek, tell him the truth. It will all work out.”

Mich.e.l.le drops her hands from her face. Her expression is bleak. ”It's not that simple,” she says quietly.

”It could be,” I say stubbornly.

She offers me a small smile, reaching over to squeeze my hand. ”Honey, I'm sorry. I'm not feeling up to hanging out today. Why don't you head back to your dad's, and I'll give you a call later tonight. Okay?”

”Yeah, of course.”

We hug, hard and fast, then I reluctantly leave Mich.e.l.le to her tears. I drive back to my dad's apartment, worry making my stomach churn.

I know it isn't my place, but I can't help but feel disappointed in Mich.e.l.le. She's always been there for me with great advice, or a shoulder to cry on, and I-it's a strange feeling to realize someone you look up to isn't perfect, and has weaknesses of her own. Difficulties in her own life that she might not be able to get through.

It's just depressing. I hate to see them fighting, especially over something like this. While Mich.e.l.le claimed to have not cheated on her husband, it certainly seems to be heading that way. What the h.e.l.l's with all the cheating? Is it for the drama? Why do we love the drama so much?

I can't think clearly about Mich.e.l.le's situation, not without unfairly judging her due to my own cheating experience. It's none of my business, anyway. Sucks, though.

I don't feel like staying here. I go back to Dad's and fake a headache, asking if it's okay if I go back early. The look of relief on his face kinda hurts. I wish I had a whipped cream pie so I could throw it at him.

Screw this. I need Heather, and I need ice cream.

”Jule!” Heather clutches my arm in a near panic. ”Pretend that we're together, okay?”