Fuck.
I wipe the delusion away with a quick shake of my head. “I mean, did you really want to ride all the way to California with those girls?”
“Of course not,” he laughs with a relaxed, mocking wave of his hand. “What guy in his right mind would want to spend the day packed into an air-conditioned vehicle with a group of beautiful girls?”
I punch him hard in the arm. “Ow!” He rubs at his shoulder. “Man, I can see why you had Chad running. You punch like a dude.”
“I’m sure the same can be said for you.”
“I deserved that.”
A light breeze blows across the pavement. It feels wonderful against my scorching skin. I watch a nearby tree sway in the wind, its stunning green boughs dancing against the sky. I comb through my hair with my fingers, pushing it forward over my shoulders and working at the relentless knots.
Jesse reaches over to twist a loose wave around his finger before tucking it behind my ear. “I’m sorry,” he says after another moment.
“What for?”
He laughs to himself, tucking his chin against his chest. “I don’t know. Just felt like I should say it, I guess. I don’t know what I was thinking when I asked them for a ride. For last night. For leaving you at the motel. I felt like I was losing my mind, and when I got to the bar I was just pissed off and exhausted.”
“Oh.” It’s all I’m able to articulate.
“Still am, come to think of it,” he says with a shake of his head.
“Pissed off?”
“Exhausted.”
Neither of us has addressed what happened last night, the frenzy we felt for one another, his rejection, our fight, and the words that made him walk out the door.
Why you didn’t get m—
But if there’s one thing I’ve learned so far on this strange misadventure, it’s that cowardice will get you nowhere. “Listen Jesse,” I begin, hoping I can steer this conversation down a path I feel comfortable taking. “About last night. I’m sorry, too.” He turns to me in surprise. “Not for kissing you,” I amend bravely. “I let my temper get the better of me. Again. I’m sorry for chasing you away.”
He searches my face in confusion. “What are you talking about? You didn’t chase me away.”
I don’t know what to think other than he’s trying not to blame me for something we both know is my fault.
“You didn’t,” he says again. “I told you, you could never do that. I… I chased myself away.”
“I don’t understand,” I admit, thoroughly confused. I’d been more than prepared to offer up a dramatic, heartfelt apology and now he’s telling me it isn’t even my fault? If I lived a hundred years, I don’t think I would ever understand his unfailing tolerance of me.
I watch as he closes his eyes, entranced by the dark lashes fluttering on his cheek. “I left last night because I had to get away,” he says.
I laugh bitterly. “Yeah! Because of me!”
“No. Because of me.” He finally opens his eyes, his brows knit together, forming the tiny crease between them that tells me we’re delving into serious territory.
“Frances?” I look up to meet his eyes. “I have to tell you something.”
My brain goes into overload as my lungs simultaneously shut down, and I try to remember how to breathe. Is it in then out?
His eyes roam over my face leaving me to read the uncertainty clouding his usually carefree facade. “I”— he starts only to stop himself almost at once.
“What is it?” I ask, wanting desperately to know what the next words out of his mouth will be while simultaneously praying for silence.
“I—” But he doesn’t go any further, and with a shake of his head, the furrow of worry is replaced by one of my favorite smiles. “I bet Chad’s tweeted at least one #crazybitch by now. Want to see if we can find it?”
My breathing returns to normal and I fill my lungs with the warm, afternoon air.
He pulls his phone out of his bag and gestures for me to scoot closer. I slide my butt against the rough, uneven pavement until our legs overlap, my knees tucked beneath his thighs. He opens Twitter as I rest my head on his shoulder, and sure enough, Chad has already tweeted about the #crazybitch he met in a gas station parking lot.
Twice.
Jesse and I relax into silence, just the two of us. Just as it should be. I know we’ll have to gather our belongings and find means of transportation sooner or later, but for now I let the languid heat of the wash over me, trying desperately to ignore the nagging, unwelcome suspicion that Jesse might be hiding just as much as I am.
14.
Las Vegas.
The place people go to gamble away their problems. Sometimes they leave with a few less problems than they arrived with; sometimes with much more. A city where Wayne Newton is your next-door neighbor and the best parties are only a fake I.D. away.
It hadn’t taken long to find someone willing to carry us along. A family of four pulled up to one of the gas pumps in a maroon four-door minivan, ready for a snack break and fill up. Jesse introduced himself, sharing the tragic tale of how we were on our way to California when I was attacked outside of the gas station. I lifted my shirt as proof, showing off the scratches on my back, a still-fresh reminder of my decision to trust Travis. The mother took one teary-eyed look at my skinned spine and our ride was secured.
We arrive in Vegas as the sun begins its descent below the famed Las Vegas strip. Hawkers call from every packed street corner, wearing sandwich boards or handing out fliers. Signs advertising fights, headliners, and casinos blaze through the city with dazzling lights and unending noise. Tourists take selfies with friends. Scalpers sell tickets on street corners. Limos speed past every minute of so, a drunk bachelorette whooping from the sunroof. Everything pulsates with energy and I can’t stop myself from gaping open-mouthed at the sheer size and luxury of the city. It reminds me of a carnival fun house my sister dragged me into when we were both young. The lights, the raucous music, the costumed people; being in Vegas makes me feel six years old again.
“It’s so big,” I say in awe, staring up at the turrets and towers of a hotel built in the shape of a medieval castle. Fiery red and cool blue bulbs twinkle overhead.
Jesse smiles. “Your talent at stating the obvious is astonishing.” He peers around, looking for the nearest bellman. “Okay. Here’s the plan. I’m going to try to find someone who can answer a few questions. There’s got to be a bus station close by. And if worse comes to worse, maybe we can book a motel for the night.”
“Because that went so well the last time,” I snicker. “Do we have enough money left for a room?”
He nods. “Probably.”
“And if we don’t?”
“Welcome to Vegas, darling.” He smirks. “The city you can only leave by selling your car for fifty bucks or your semen for forty.”
“That is alarmingly specific.”
“I’m sure we’ll think of something. We can always set a bucket in front of us and sing showtunes on the street corner.”
“You sing?’
“I was hoping you did.”
“How about you see what you can find out before we resort to guerilla troubadour tactics.” I pull my cell out of my bag. “I’ll wait here until you get back. I’ve got to make a call anyway.”
He offers me a parting squeeze of my hand before disappearing into the crowd. I press my back against the closest building and search my recent calls.
Ring…
Ring…
“Hello?”
“Hey, Katie. It’s me.”
“Frances! John and I were just talking about you!”
Her voice is pitched unnaturally high, too friendly to be believable.
“I just got into Las Vegas a few minutes ago and—”
“That’s wonderful! Las Vegas? I’m so jealous!”
My sister hasn’t been jealous of me a day in her life. Something is definitely up.
“What is up with y
ou?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean why are you acting so weird?”
“I’m not being weird.”
I sigh. I’m not going to dig for information I know she’s never going to give. “Fine. I just thought I’d let you know I’m okay and—”
“Darlene is suing you.”
Therein follows a long, drawn out, painfully confused silence.
“Excuse me?” I ask, not certain I’d heard correctly. “What did you say?”
“I said Darlene is suing you,” she says, slower this time as though speaking to someone mentally handicapped. “Well, technically she’s suing Mom and Dad. Because she knows you don’ have any money.”
“But… but that’s impossible,” I stammer back, trying to convince myself she’s lying. My voice cracks with its lack of control. “She can’t!”
“Turns out, she can,” Katie says. “That’s what John and I were just discussing. Sometimes being married to an attorney comes in handy.”
“But why would she do that?”
“Because, and I quote, you humiliated her son, forced them to spend thousands of dollars on a wedding that never took place, and ultimately disgraced her entire family.”
My brain kicks into overdrive, grinding gears and sparks replacing thought and structure. “But… she… why... how?” I blurt out in half-formed sentences. “Can she even do that? I mean, legally?”
“I asked John if she could, and he said there was definite precedent, at least from a financial point of view. Their family spent thousands of dollars on a wedding that never happened. Dad’s lawyer thinks it’s probably best to settle out of court, and they’re seriously considering it.”
“But she can’t do that! Andrew wouldn’t let his mom steamroll our fam—”
I stop. Because the truth is, I don’t know what Andrew would do anymore. I only know the Andrew from my past, the Andrew from before. Before the wedding that never was, before the proposal, before me. And the Andrew I left behind… I’m not sure I even know who that is anymore.
Katie laughs. “Frances, I think you’re still drastically underestimating exactly how angry everyone is. You haven’t been here to see the aftermath of your big revelation, so I don’t expect you to understand. But things are different now. Mom won’t so much as speak your name. And Andrew… he…”
She doesn’t go on and I don’t push her. Angry tears swim up and out the corners of my eyes, leaking down my cheeks like salted rain. I hurriedly wipe them away with the back of my hand, embarrassed to be crying in such a public place.
“What… what am I supposed to do, Katie?” I stammer uselessly. “Tell me what I should do!”
“You left, Frances.” I can’t hear so much as a note of sympathy in her reply. “You just up and left. So maybe… maybe it would be best if you just stayed gone.”
Click.
The call goes dead.
I feel like screaming, throwing something, punching the wall at my back, doing anything to take the turmoil I feel swirling around my mind and force it out through my body. Yes, I ran from my problems. I know that. And yes, I created problems I never foresaw coming, but I always thought that no matter what I had done, no matter how bad things got, I could always eventually go home. But as I stare blankly into the surging masses clogging the street like debris, I know I don’t belong with my family. Maybe I never did.
Is there somewhere I do belong, or am I doomed to wander around from hotel to hotel, buffeted from bus station to bus station, pillar to post, like some millennial nomad until the day I die? I’m not saying I don’t deserve it. I’m well aware it’s my own actions that have brought me to this point, but I just thought… I just thought…
What did I think would happen?
Jesse’s face appears through the crushing throng. “Hey,” he says with a smile. My favorite one, slightly askew, curled as though he’s hiding a surprise. “I talked to the valet guys over at The Elara and they told me how to get to the bus station from here. They also told me about an all-night diner around the corner. So, are you ready to hit the road, or would you rather get something to eat? Hey.” He steps back as though seeing me for the first time. “You’re white as a ghost. Are you okay?”
My head feels impossibly light as I reach his side and I find I haven’t heard a word he’s said. I grab onto his arm to steady myself. I can’t seem to breathe, any air arriving in short, painful gasps. “I—”
“Frannie?” He grips my shoulders between his hands. His voice sounds so far away. Miles. Oceans. “Frances, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”
“I… I…” I try to force the words past my lips, yet nothing but warm, stilted air pushes through.
“Breathe, Frances,” he commands. “Just breathe. Whatever it is, I’ve got you. Just copy me okay, four counts in, four counts out, okay?”
I watch his shoulders rise with a long draught of air and sink as it leaves his body. I mimic his actions as best I can, inhaling for four, exhaling for four more. The air enters my lungs as if by force, barreling past whatever barrier of panic and fear was blocking the way. I let the same breath slip through pursed lips. He breathes again and I follow suit. In… out… in… out…
“There she is,” he says after a minute, keeping his hands firmly around my upper arms. His grip, while tight, doesn’t hurt, only keeps me focused on what’s in front of me, what is real and tangible rather than the nightmare scenario playing on a loop inside my head. I barely have time to register the featherlight press of his lips to the top of my head before they’re gone.
“Are you okay?” he asks, peering down at me as though I might drop any second.
I nod.
“Are you sure? If you don’t feel like walking, I’m fairly sure I can carry you to the diner.”
A part of me wonders how it might feel to be carried in Jesse’s arms. But reason and common-sense return and I shake my head.
“You want to tell me what that was all about? I leave for five minutes and come back to find out you’re having a full-blown panic attack.”
My voice feels like sandpaper coming up my throat. “Was it that obvious?” I croak.
He slips his arm around my waist. “Painfully obvious. I’ve never seen you have a panic attack before.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had one before.”
“Where did it even come from?”
“It’s a long story.”
“A long story that somehow managed to take place in the time it took me to walk half a city block?”
“You’d be surprised.”
“Care to share it with me?”
I nod, knowing full well Jesse will only ever hear the half of it. “Maybe over something to drink?”
He keeps his arm secured around my waist as we head deeper into the city, almost as if he’s ready to catch me should my legs give out. I try to tell him I’m okay, that there’s no danger of me losing it twice in one night, but I can tell he doesn’t believe me. Truth is, I’m not even sure I believe it myself.
Instead, I tell him an abbreviated version of the conversation with my sister, careful again to leave out any details regarding why I left in the first place: Andrew, the wedding. I make it sound as though my parents are merely upset that I left on a whim and have no desire to see me darkening their doorstep anytime soon.
We stroll into the diner the valets told him about, finding a comfy, vinyl covered booth near the back. The clangs and clamor of noise in the background, pots and pans rattling against sink and stovetop, customers giving orders and chatting to friends or family, the cash register opening and closing with the tiny ring of a bell, eventually fade into a dull hum.
“What am I supposed to do?” I ask a few minutes later, sipping slowly from the chocolate milkshake in front of me.
Jesse munches down on a French-fry. “What do you mean supposed to do?”
“I thought that phrase was pretty self-explanatory.”
“It is. I just don’t unde
rstand why you need to do anything.”
“Well Jesse,” I say, stealing a fry from his plate. “I have to do something.”
“Why?” He asks as though I should already know the answer.
“Why what?”
“Why do you have to do something about this? I thought you already were doing something.”
“I was!” I shout loud enough for people in the next booth to hear. They glance at us over their plastic menus. “I mean… I am. And what I’ve has turned me into a homeless person! I’m like Jewel before she sold out. Why are you being so Pollyanna about this?”
His dark eyes narrow. “Just answer me this. How does any of this make you a different person from who you were this morning?”
I exhale in exasperation. “It—”
But I stop, hit with a sudden realization, the point he’s been trying to get across. I’m still the same confused, irrational, often melodramatic girl I was when I woke up this morning.
“It doesn’t,” I answer him, finally looking up from the depths of my frosted glass.
He smiles and its warmth nearly stops my heart. “Exactly,” he says. “You’re still the same nose breaker, whisky drinker, best damn kisser I’ve ever met. You’re the most confusing woman I know, and I can’t imagine taking this trip without you. What your parents decide to do, what happens back home, it doesn’t change any of that. Just because your so-called family took away your safety net doesn’t mean you should be frightened because it’s gone. Just don’t look down.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know if I can keep this up.”
“You’re stronger than you think you are. Finding out you’ve lost your world, whatever the reason, is rough. But it gets easier. Trust me.” He passes me a French fry in lieu of an olive branch.
“How do you know?”
He hesitates before answering. “Because I’ve been through it. I lived with my dad after my parents got divorced. He was a good guy, tried to be a good father. And for my benefit, he pretended like he’d fought for custody, that mom had wanted me to live with her and he’d won out. It wasn’t until after he died that I learned my mother had all but given me away. I knew my she didn’t want me around, but when he died I had nowhere else to go. So, I did my best to keep my head down and stay out of her way. And I was so…” He swallows hard. “I was so lonely. But I don’t think I would be the man I am now without going through all of that. I don’t think I would have been strong enough to walk away from it all if I hadn’t kept going. So maybe a door closed behind you. Just pick another one and keep moving forward. And I know I sound like a self-help book right now, but it still holds true. Sometimes you have to pay for the great moments by going through the bad, you know?”
One More For The Road Page 15
