“The city,” Hillary said, “having drinks at Wetbar with Brendon. What’s up?” Brendon was some supposedly very cute guy Hillary had met one night in the city whom Marissa hadn’t met yet.
“Did you hear what’s going on?” Marissa asked.
“What’s going on with what?”
“I guess not then.”
“What is it?”
“I have some bad news for you,” Marissa said. “Well, not bad news… weird n ews.Fucked- up news.Veryfucked- up news.”
“Can you tell me already?” Hillary sounded very concerned. Figuring she might as well just come out with it, Marissa said, “My dad and your mom had sex.”
Saying it out loud, it seemed even more absurd, almost laughable. There was a long silence, then Hillary said, “No way.”
“Way.”
“This is a joke, right?”
“Swear to God, I just found out. It’s so fucked up. My dad found out about my mom and Tony too. My parents looked like they wanted to kill each other.” “I don’t believe you,” Hillary said, sounding a little edgy.
“Why would I call you up to lie about-”
“I don’t know, but it’s not funny.”
Marissa tried to sound ultraserious. “I am not lying.”
“I have to go,” Hillary said coldly.
“Hill, come on, don’t-”
“Bye,” Hillary said and ended the call.
Marissa was pissed off that Hillary had hung up on her like that- talk about shooting the messenger- but she could understand her reaction. The affair was hard to believe, and it had to be even harder for Hillary to accept because her life had always been so perfect. Her parents had always gotten along so well, and her family had always been one of the least dysfunctional families in the whole neighborhood.
“Welcome to the club,” Marissa said, and then the doorbell rang. She went to the edge of the landing and kneeled down to get an unobstructed view of the front door, where her father was talking to- holy shit- Mike Wasserman, Hillary’s dad. He sounded like he was threatening her father- oh no, this day was going from bad to worse. Marissa hoped her dad wasn’t going to get even more beaten up; who’d beaten him up the first time, anyway? Did her mom do that to him? She’d seemed angry enough to beat him up, that was for sure.
Marissa returned to her room and clicked on a random song on iTunes- ironically and annoyingly, Hinder’s “Lips of an Angel,” a song about a guy cheating on his girlfriend.
She turned down the music and called Xan.
“Hey,” Xan said.
It was so great to hear his voice, the voice of a rational person. “I know you’re busy painting, and I’m sorry to bother you, but there’s some crazy stuff happening here.” She told him about how her father had found out about her mother’s affair with Tony the trainer and then had confessed his own affair.
“It’s been a total mess,” she said.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “Man, that really sucks.”
“I’ve never seen my mother so hurt, and you should’ve seen the look on my father’s face. He looked like he was enjoying it. It was so fucking sick.”
“Oh, shit,” Xan said. “I’m really sorry, Rissa.”
“I know how busy you are,” Marissa said, “and I really don’t want to burden you, but I really don’t want to be alone right now. Is it okay if I…”
“Yes, definitely, come over. Unless you want me to come there?”
“No, no, trust me, here is one place you do not want to be. But are you sure it’s okay? Becau-”
“Yeah, I’m positive,” he said. “You need to get away from all that craziness, and I want to be with you now.”
“Thank you,” Marissa said. “You’re so amazing.”
As she packed an overnight bag, she couldn’t stop thinking about Xan, how thoughtful he was and how lucky she was that she’d found him. If Lucas hadn’t hooked up with that other girl that night at Kenny’s Castaways, Marissa might never have met him, and she didn’t even want to imagine what things would’ve been like then. Right now Xan was the best thing in her life, the only thing, really.
Her attachment to Xan was weird because Marissa usually didn’t fall for guys so quickly. In the past, when she was starting to get close to a guy, she’d be the one who’d freak out and say, “I need some space” or “I want to take it slower” or “I don’t want to be exclusive,” anything to avoid getting into an actual relationship. But with Xan she didn’t feel trapped or pressured at all. Hanging out with him felt so normal, so natural, so right. Aside from being extremely cute, he was easygoing, sincere, attentive, kind, generous, and funny, and she had so much in common with him it was insane. She loved that he was an artist and that he liked to talk about art. Sometimes when she was with him she felt like he knew what she was thinking ahead of time, like their brains were wired the same way. But the most amazing thing about Xan was that they’d known each other for over a week now and no red flags had gone up; she hadn’t had any what she called uh- oh moments. In just about every other relationship she’d ever been in, the guy would always seem great at first, maybe for the first date or two, but then there would be an uh- oh moment and he’d drop some bombshell, like she’d find out he was a hockey fanatic, a compulsive gambler, a drug addict, a Republican- something horrible.
The morning after they met, she did what every girl in the world did after meeting a new guy- she Googled him. She hoped to find old pictures of him or information about his art, hopefully even a blog. He’d told her his last name was something like Ivonov, but a search for “Xan Ivonov” didn’t bring up any information, nor did a search for “Alexander Ivonov.” Maybe she was spelling Ivonov wrong or, since he was just an aspiring artist, there was no information about him online yet. She was trying a few other spellings- Ivonof, Ivonoff, Evonof- when he texted her, asking her if she wanted to spend the day at the Met. Was that the perfect first date or what? She had such a good time, taking him around, showing him all her favorite paintings. When he went on about how much he loved The Storm, she knew he was just saying this to impress her, but that was exactly what she loved about him, what made him stand out versus other guys. He made that extra effort; he actually cared.
During the week, he wanted to get together practically every night, something that would normally make her feel trapped, but she wanted to spend every second with him. When they weren’t together she felt an incredible void and couldn’t stop thinking about him, and then when they were together it felt so intense that she didn’t want their dates to end. The timing of meeting Xan had been so perfect, because she’d needed to get away from her parents, distance herself from all of the fucked- upness at home, and he was the perfect distraction.
But she didn’t want to sleep with him too fast. She wanted them to really get to know each other first, wait a few dates at least. When he invited her back to his place for the first time, she was ready for something to happen and had a pack of condoms in her purse just in case.
She knew he was worried and insecure about her seeing his artwork- it was so cute to see him get like that- and she kept reassuring him, telling him that his stuff was probably amazing. And she really did expect his work to be incredible. She’d been imagining that he was this major undiscovered talent, the next big thing, and would be hugely famous someday, so when she entered his apartment and saw his paintings it was hard to not feel a big letdown.
His work was extremely mixed. Some of it was very amateurish, bordering on plain awful, but a few of the paintings showed that he at least had some basic talent. His main problem was that his work was unfocused, that he had no singular vision. While he’d told her that he worked in a variety of styles, she was surprised by how vastly different the paintings were. His style ranged from realism to modern to abstract to postmodern, and his use of oils and acrylics seemed almost random. The painting he was currently working on was a total mess; it looked like he’d splattered the paint nonsensically onto the canvas, like a child’s imitation of Jackson Pollock. The pictures looked so different from one another, in their styles and subjects, that his greatest talent as a painter seemed to be his ability to mimic other artists’ techniques, and he didn’t even do that very well. It was no wonder that she hadn’t found any information about him online.