Such a Pretty Face by Annabelle Costa

Chapter 37

When I wake up the next morning, I’ve got an email from Brody: “So sorry about last night. Do you want to have lunch?”

I can’t imagine why he’s apologizing. Well, maybe because I had to clean up vomit. But he did nothing wrong. Yes, the night was horrible, but it wasn’t his fault. It was Sean’s fault. Well, Sean and that stupid couch.

When I get out of my room, Abby is in the kitchen, cooking something at the stove. “Hi, Emily!” she chirps.

“Hi…” Ever since Abby caught me and Brody together in my room, things have been a little weird between us. She keeps saying she wants to talk to me, and I keep putting her off. “I’m just heading out.”

“Have you had lunch?” she asks. “I’ll make you a delicious carrot soup.”

Oh my God, not carrots. Anything but carrots.

“No, thanks,” I say. “I’m meeting Brody for lunch.”

Abby sighs and turns away from her soup. “By the way, Emily,” she says. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. About Brody.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Yes?”

“Listen,” she says in this slow, careful voice. “I’m sure Brody is a very nice, special man. But… well, do you think it’s ethical to… well, you know?”

I have a bad feeling about this conversation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Emily,” she says. “It’s very kind of you to take him out and be a friend to him. But, well, there are laws about what you can do with an individual who’s… you know, impaired. It’s just not right.”

Oh God. I was right. This is the worst conversation ever.

“He’s not…” How do I put this? Maybe it’s best to be blunt. “He’s not retarded, Abby.”

She just shakes her head at me.

“He’s not!” I insist. “He works and… and he lives alone and…”

“I’m sure he does,” Abby says, her voice dripping with condescension. “And that’s wonderful for him.”

I hate her. “He’s a quadriplegic,” I say. “His disability is entirely physical. I met him in my computer science class.” And he got a higher grade on the final than I did.

“Look, Emily,” Abby says. “I’m not judging you. It’s fine for you to be friends with him. Just… be careful.”

“Fine,” I snap at her.

It’s not what I want to say to her, but I don’t want to get myself all worked up before lunch with Brody. I don’t care what she thinks about him anyway.

_____

I’m still stewing on the bus ride over to Brody’s apartment, although I attempt to calm myself down. I don’t want to be angry when I see him. He’s had a bad enough weekend himself.

Except as I’m approaching Brody’s building, I see none other than Sean exiting. Sean, with his red hair and his stupid, dopey grin. I’d bet anything that when I’m not around, he ribs Brody about having a fat girlfriend. I can honestly say I hate the guy. I despise him for what he did to Brody, even if Brody himself could forgive and forget.

When Sean sees me, he gives me a big friendly wave. Like we’re great buddies. My blood boils. How could he smile at me after the shit he pulled last night? Isn’t he humiliated?

“What’s wrong, Emily?” he asks me with a wink. “Hungover?”

I glare at him. “Me? Why would I be hungover?”

Keep your mouth shut, Emily. No good can come out of telling off your boyfriend’s brother.

“True.” Sean winks at me. “I can tell you’re a lady who can handle your liquor.”

I’m usually this humble little mouse, but this time my rage gets the better of me. Sean needs to know how wrong what he did was. He ruined his brother’s life, and he acts like it’s no big deal. Like it’s all one big joke.

“Listen to me,” I say. “What you did to Brody last night was horrible. I mean, really, really despicable. You’re his brother and he needed your help, and you completely let him down!”

The smile fades from Sean’s face. “I don’t think this is any of your business, Emily.”

“Maybe not,” I admit. “But I love Brody and it’s hard to watch you hurt him this way. You’d think after your drinking caused the accident that landed him in the wheelchair to begin with, you could learn to change. For his sake as much as for your own. It seems like the least you could do after wrecking his life.”

There. I said it. I hope Brody appreciates my standing up for him.

And I hope this wasn’t a horrible mistake.

Sean stares at me, his pale skin turning bright red the same way Brody’s does. His blue eyes narrow at me. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“It’s true!” I shoot back. I refuse to back down. “Brody acts upbeat about it, like it’s no big deal, but it is a big deal! How could you do that to someone and then just keep on drinking?”

Sean shakes his head and snorts. “Wow,” he says. At first, I’m sure he’s going to shoot some insulting comment at me about how fat I am, but instead, he says, “I can’t believe Brody is such a fucking liar.”

“Brody is not a liar,” I say.

“Listen, sweetheart,” Sean says. “I didn’t cause Brody’s accident. He did. He was driving. He was drunk off his ass as usual and slammed his car into a tree.”

Now it’s my turn to stare. I thought Sean was awful before, but now he’s proving himself to be a liar too. “I don’t believe you,” I say. “Brody would never do that. He’d never drive drunk.”

Sean laughs. “He most certainly would. And did. Multiple times. You didn’t know the guy back then, but I don’t think he was sober once through all of high school. All he did was drink, party, and hook up with girls. He’s lucky he didn’t flunk out.”

That doesn’t sound like Brody. But it meshes very well with the guy Camille described going to school with. The guy who got suspended for fighting in the hallway. Who was kissing a girl he couldn’t even remember in his yearbook photo.

Still, I have good reasons to believe he’s lying. “That makes no sense,” I say. “Brody never even drinks at all. Like, ever.”

“Right.” Sean has an irritatingly smug look on his face. “He never drinks. He won’t touch it. Haven’t you ever thought that was weird? It’s because he doesn’t trust himself.”

For a moment, I’m at a loss for words. He’s right—I always thought it was a little odd how he’d never even have a small glass of wine when we went out. I had assumed it had something to do with Sean, but maybe I was wrong…

No, this is crazy. I’m not going to believe Sean over my boyfriend.

Sean sticks his face in mine. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

I shake my head.

He folds his arms across his chest. “Well, fine. Let’s go upstairs together and ask him what really happened.”

And that’s when I start to believe it. Because Sean just seems so sure, and this is not just a game of chicken. We get into the elevator together and I realize he has every intention of going through with this.

Brody answers the door right away. His face lights up when he sees me, but he frowns when Sean appears from behind me. “What are you doing here, Sean?” he asks.

“Thanks for helping me get dressed this morning, Sean,” Sean says mockingly as he pushes past me into this apartment. “I’m going to repay you by telling lies about you to my girlfriend.”

Brody blanches. “What are you talking about?”

I shut the door behind me. Everyone is quiet—they’re both waiting for me to say something. “Brody,” I say. “Who was driving the car on the night that… that you got hurt?”

Brody glances at Sean and lowers his eyes. “I was.”

Sean claps his hands together. “Fantastic,” he says. “I am so glad we got that cleared up. I’ll let myself out, Brody, so you can explain to Emily why you lied to her. Later, Bro.”

Sean slams the door rather roughly when he leaves the apartment, loud enough that both of us jump. Brody’s blue eyes are still downcast. He looks miserable. It’s almost enough to make me want to let him off the hook. Almost.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth,” Brody says. “I’m really sorry.”

“Because you got caught,” I can’t help but say.

He looks wounded. “No. Not because of that.” He sighs and nods his head in the direction of the living room. “Could you sit down? Please sit down so we can talk.”

I oblige him, only because my ankles are killing me. I sit down on his sofa, still trying to grasp what happened. “Why did you lie to me?”

“You know what sucks?” He lifts his eyes to look at me. “I did this stupid, awful thing to myself… I fucking crippled myself for the rest of my life. Because I was nineteen years old and I was an idiot, and I had a drinking problem. And now because of this dumb thing I did when I was a kid, I’m in a wheelchair and I need help to get in and out of bed and to get dressed and to… to make love to my girlfriend…” He blushes when he says that. “And not just that, but for the rest of my life, I have to tell everyone that the reason I’m in this position is because of my own stupidity. Because I drove drunk and steered right into a tree.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “So you lie about it? For months?”

He blinks at me. “I’m sorry, Emily. I’m crazy about you and I was afraid you’d lose respect for me if you knew. I was a different person back then.”

I don’t know what to think. On one hand, he lied to me about something pretty important. And like they say, once a liar, always a liar. How can I trust anything he says from now on? Camille told me herself that he couldn’t be trusted—it looks like she was right, after all.

“I’ve gotten help,” Brody says to me in this soft, pleading voice. “I saw a therapist after my accident to talk about my drug and alcohol problems. I’m past it, I swear to you. I don’t drink at all now, as you’ve noticed. I can’t be responsible with it, so I avoid alcohol entirely. It’s probably, you know, a genetic thing. Sean’s the same way, and our dad has had issues in the past too. Not that I’m making excuses.”

“So you’re an alcoholic?”

He blows air between his lips. “Yes.”

“God.” I close my eyes for a moment. “I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me. I thought we were being honest with each other. That’s a big thing to hide from me.”

“I know.” His brows bunch together. “I’m sorry. Really.”

“What else haven’t you told me?” I shoot back. “Like, I asked you how many women you had slept with and you dodged the question like it didn’t matter. I want the answer. How many?”

Brody rubs his wrist against his knee. “You want the exact number?”

I stare at him. “It’s upsetting you won’t tell me.”

“Truthfully,” he says, “I’m not entirely sure. I… I don’t remember a lot from high school and early college. I was really messed up. I’d say… fifteen or sixteen?”

“Fifteen or sixteen?” It may as well be a thousand. It’s a lot more than I thought it would be. “Jesus.”

“But like I said, only one in the last ten years.” His voice is pleading. “And I was hoping maybe just one more… ever.”

I rub my fingers against my temples. This is so much to take in. Part of me wants to forgive him and believe he’s made penance for what he’s done and he’s changed. But part of me feels like I can’t believe a word he says anymore. It isn’t what he did so much as the fact that he lied about it. “I don’t know…”

“I hoped you’d understand, Emily,” he adds. “I mean, with the issues that you have…”

My head snaps up. “The issues I have? What issues? You think I have a drinking problem?”

“No, of course not,” he says quickly. “I meant your issues with, you know…”

My heart is pounding in my chest. In my heart, I know what he’s going to say, but there’s a small part of me that hopes he’ll say something else. Like maybe he thinks I have a gambling addiction. Or that I watch too much TV. “With what?”

Brody looks away. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“No,” I press him. “Say it.”

He lets out a long sigh. “With food, okay?” He studies my face. “You think I don’t realize you’ve been cleaning out my fridge every time you come here?”

Even though he’s not capable of doing it, I feel like he just slapped me in the face. I can’t believe he said that to me. My fingers shake with anger. All this time, Brody acted like he was fine with my weight issues—like he didn’t even care. But the opposite is true. Brody has a big problem with my weight, and he’s been biting his tongue to keep from saying anything.

“Don’t worry,” I say to him, as I start the laborious process of rising from the couch. Christ, it’s gotten hard to do that lately. The last thing I need right now is a repeat of what happened last night. It would certainly prove Brody’s point. “I won’t touch your fridge ever again. I promise.”

Brody sucks in a breath. “Hey, I didn’t mean it that way. Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No,” I say, finally getting to my feet. Thank God. “It’s better you did. It’s better I know how you really feel.”

“Emily, I love you.” His eyes look moist, but I don’t care. I can barely look at him. “I worry about you. It’s not healthy to—”

“To be so fat?” I blurt out.

“No! Well… yes. But—”

“Well, lucky you,” I say. “Because it’s not something you have to worry about anymore.”

I brush past him, but Brody follows me. I recognize that if he gets to the door before I do, he could block my only exit. And he’s fast in that damn power chair.

“Emily,” I hear him pleading. “I swear I didn’t mean it that way. Come on, please don’t go. This is crazy. Please, Emily. I love you.”

And you know what? Even though he’s swearing up and down that he loves me, he never tells me that he thinks I’m attractive. Because the truth is that he doesn’t. He’s not blind—he knows I’m a morbidly obese girl who broke a guy’s couch yesterday just by sitting in it. Nobody could really think I’m attractive. Brody’s just lonely and he figured he couldn’t get anyone else. He even admitted it.

But now he’s sick of his girlfriend being so goddamn fat. And he’s going to be like everyone else—nagging me about every crumb that I eat. And let me tell you, that’s the last thing I need in my life right now. Or ever. I’m better off getting out now. So is he.

And just to prove my point, when I leave Brody’s apartment, he doesn’t follow me.

Camille was right—he ended up breaking my heart.

_____

There’s one thing Brody was right about: I also have a secret. And now you know what it is.

I binge.

When I’m nervous, I binge eat. When I went over to Brody’s apartment and I got scared about him seeing me naked or touching me, I would stuff my face with the contents of his fridge. I was hoping he didn’t know.

When I’m happy, I can keep it in check. I can stick with my diet. But when I’m depressed, that’s the worst. I lose control completely.

When I leave Brody’s apartment now, I go shopping at the local supermarket. I buy a chocolate cake, a sack of salted caramels, a heart-shaped box of filled chocolates, a box of donuts, and just so I don’t get sugar overload—a sack of fried chicken. The snot-faced kid operating the cash register at the supermarket gives me a look when I’m paying, but I don’t give a shit. I almost want him to say something so I can tell him it’s none of his goddamn business.

Abby isn’t home when I get back to the apartment, which means I can indulge at our dining table. I empty the contents of my brown paper sack and I eat. I don’t savor. I just eat. Like I’m a machine programmed to eat.

About halfway through the chocolate cake, I start to feel a lot better about the whole thing. That’s what I love about food—it never has a bad day or is judgmental—it’s always there, and it’s always good.

How the hell could Brody compare his drug and alcohol issues to my overeating a little? That’s total bullshit. Eating a chocolate cake does not make you steer your car into a tree. This cake isn’t going to kill me.

I finish about three-quarters of the food and stash the rest in my room. I don’t want a lecture from Abby—if she started in on me, I would almost definitely say something I’d regret.

My phone chirps with a text message. I pull it out of my purse and look at the screen. It’s Brody, of course.

So sorry. U r perfect. Luv u. come back?

I shake my head. It was a mistake to get involved with Brody. Now that my belly is full, I can think straight again. He’s a liar and a judgmental asshole. I can’t go back there after the things he said to me today.

I just can’t.