Embracing Reckless

by Melanie Shawn

  Even that feeling itself was fucking strange, considering how much time I’d spent on my own these past years on the road. I’d always been comfortable with solitude. It wasn’t like I was some kind of anti-social loner. I enjoyed being around people, too. It was just that I found my own company just as fascinating as theirs.

  This afternoon had been a different story, though. When Brandy had left to go hang with her sister, I’d felt an itch to be around people.

  The door opened and my mom’s face brightened when she saw it was me. “Clay! This is an unexpected and lovely surprise.”

  She stepped back to let me enter and I stepped past her into the living room, giving her a quick hug as I passed.

  “Yeah. Brandy’s off with Sandy, and I kind of felt the need to be with other people. I figured I’d satisfy it with the one person who’s always either happy to see me, or feels obligated to pretend she is.”

  My mom smacked my arm lightly. “Oh, stop. You know I’m always thrilled to see you.”

  “Yeah, I know. Thanks for that, by the way. I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much it means to me to know I have somebody who’ll always be glad I’m around. Not everybody has that. It’s important.”

  Bright tears sprang up in her eyes. She opened her mouth a little like she was going to say something, then closed it again and swallowed hard. Instead of responding, she just gathered me up in a strong hug and held me there for a long moment.

  When she pulled back, she smiled a little and then said, “Come on. I’ll make you a sandwich. I feel like we might have some things to talk about.”

  I followed her into the kitchen. Damn, maybe she was right and I did have some shit to talk through. This whole speaking my heart thing was very out of character for me.

  I sat down at the kitchen table as she took sandwich fixings out of the fridge. Watching her spread mayo and mustard over slices of bread, then pile on deli meat, cheese—making sure the ratios were just the way I liked them—I was filled with a sense of nostalgia. She’d been doing it that way for me since I was a kid.

  There was nothing quite like Mom’s home cooking, I guessed. Even if it was just a sandwich.

  She set the small plate in front of me and pulled cans of soda out of the fridge for both of us.

  When she sat down across the kitchen table from me, she gave me a smile and waited for me to speak. I knew this was one of her main tactics—let the silence stretch and wait until the building pressure was too much for me to take, virtually forcing me to speak.

  “So….what’s Stuart up to?”

  Apparently it was also one of her most effective tactics.

  Her smile widened, this time with distinct amusement. She shook her head. “Stuart’s in the bedroom returning some emails. He’s just fine.”

  I had to laugh at myself. Even though it was clear as freaking day that my mom could see right through me, it was still hard for me to broach the topic.

  Luckily, she had pity on me. After taking a slow sip of her Coke, she said, “So. Brandy sure is special, huh?”

  I glanced down at my sandwich, just for something to look at. “Yeah. She’s different.”

  She reached across and patted my hand. “I can tell.”

  I leaned back in my chair and returned the smile that still curved gently on her lips. “You must be burning up with questions you’re dying to fire at me.”

  Her head tilted, just a little. “Burning up might be a little much. I’d say…brimming.”

  I let out a small laugh. “Fine. Brimming. But you’re holding them in really well.”

  “I know my son. This isn’t my first rodeo. Time and space is what you need. You always have.”

  I took that in. “Do you think that’s what’s made me so restless? Always on the hunt for more time, more space?”

  She considered this. “I don’t know if you’ve been restless, honestly. I think you might’ve just been searching. And you needed that time, and that space, to help you do it.”

  I pressed the flat of my palm into the table. “Searching for what, though?”

  “Oh, honey. That’s for you to figure out. That’s basically everyone’s mission in life, to figure out what it is they’re searching for, to find it, and to appreciate it once they have.”

  I let that rattle around in my brain for a few moments, putting her words into the context of my life. I could see how true they were. I shook my head and gave her a slow smile. “I’m pretty sure I’ve done the first and second parts.”

  She patted my hand again. “Good. I’m pretty sure you have, too.”

  “I don’t think the third is going to be much of a challenge. Brandy’s incredible.”

  “I know.”

  “She’s had to handle so much in her life. There’s always been so much responsibility on her shoulders. But she never complains. She just takes it on, and crushes challenges like they’re not even there. Who else could do that?”

  She chuckled softly.

  My brow wrinkled. “What’s funny?”

  “Nothing, really. Just…you remind me of myself, back when I first met Stuart. All the things you just said, they’re very close to things I said to my friends at the time. And, hearing you talk that way now, it occurs to me that you and Brandy are sort of like a version of us. She has Stuart’s best qualities. You have what I flatter myself are mine. So, it makes sense that you were drawn to each other, just like the two of us were.”

  I hadn’t thought of that before, but I could see her point now that she’d laid it out like that. “What do you think it means?”

  Her face softened and she laid a hand on my arm. “I think it means you’ll be very happy, and for a very long time. I speak from experience.”

  Chapter 35

  Brandy

  “I’ve always thought it would be cool to live someplace that had a town square,” Clay said as his eyes roved over our surroundings. “It’s the kind of thing you read about in books or see in movies. But I’ve never really experienced it before.”

  I pulled a blanket from the bag I’d brought with me and shook it out so we could sit down on the grass in the plaza. “Yeah, I like it. I mean, it’s not exactly the quaint, idealistic picture of Midwestern small-town living you might be imagining… meaning, there’s probably a lot more old people wandering around grumbling about the weed-smoking hippies than you might expect. Not to mention more weed-smoking hippies. But, all in all, I’d have to say it’s pretty sweet to have a designated meeting place when you make plans with friends.”

  Clay pulled me close and kissed me long and hard, then drew back and studied my face as if trying to memorize it. He breathed, “You’re so amazing.”

  I laughed a little, uncomfortable with the awe-stricken praise, which felt undeserved. “Wow. I guess I’ll have to give more speeches about Mary-Jane-loving vagabonds and the geriatric set who hate them. It really seems to have struck a chord.”

  He kissed me again. “Give more speeches about whatever you feel like talking about. I want to hear it all. I just love listening to you talk.”

  I shook my head. “Oh, wow, buddy. You don’t know what kind of door you’ve just opened up.”

  He laughed. “What are you talking about?”

  I sighed. “I was going to wait as long as possible to confess, but I guess now is as good a time as any. The truth is…I am a closet nerd.”

  “Confess? That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “I’m not talking about just being kind of into one cult-classic book or movie and labeling myself a nerd. I’m talking serious nerddom.”

  “Fine. Okay. I’ll take the bait. What are you talking about?”

  “Let’s see. My sister once bought me a T-shirt that said, ‘I’m not a psychopath, I’m a high-functioning fangirl.’ I have intricate and complex theories about Game of Thrones. I’ve written Firefly fan fiction that I will read to you in its entirety. I have deeply-held beliefs about comic book characters you’ve never heard of. And I’ve
invented my own rubric for grading the authenticity of cosplay outfits.”

  Clay was silent for a moment, before tentatively saying, “Well…that’s not all that nerdy—”

  “It’s a forty-seven-category rubric,” I interjected, and he burst out laughing.

  “But it’s more than those examples,” I clarified. “It’s a lot of things about me. It’s how crazy I get about things when I decide that I like them, how far off the deep end I go. And how obscure those things usually are.”

  “How so?”

  “Like…Okay, you know Wil Wheaton?”

  “From Star Trek, right?”

  “Star Trek: The Next Generation,” I corrected, then blushed. “Aaaaand, there I go, proving my point. But, anyway. He said this thing about nerddom that I’ve always thought defined it perfectly. That it’s not about what you love, but about how you love the things you love. How into them you get, how passionate. How you don’t notice peoples’ eyes glazing over when you talk about your top five favorite episodes, ranked, of a podcast you love, but they’ve never heard of. When you try to get your friends to debate the greatest concept albums of all time, and they don’t even know what the fuck a concept album is.”

  Clay cleared his throat. “So…um…would this be a bad time to tell you—”

  “That you don’t even know what the fuck a concept album is?” I interrupted. “No. It’s fine. I just assume that about people now.”

  “Good. That’s probably smart.”

  “Anyway. You know how people make a phrase out of a topic and the word nerd? Like, a movie nerd. A comic book nerd. A podcast nerd. A music nerd. A sci-fi nerd. A comedy nerd. A book nerd. A video game nerd. The list goes on. Well, I’m all of the kinds of nerd I just listed. Plus a shit-ton more. That’s what I’m trying to say, in a nutshell. I’m so many kinds of nerd that I’ve just shortened it to nerd.”

  He laughed. “How long have you been working on that speech?”

  “I feel like answering that question would reveal that I’m a preparation nerd.”

  “Well, you know what? You didn’t even need it. Because I don’t care. I’ll listen to you debate the virtues of PS3 versus Xbox all day long. I’ll list my favorite concept albums. After I google what that is and listen to some of them and form an opinion about which are my favorites, obviously. Here’s the thing, Brandy: as long as I get to be with you, that’s all that matters.”

  Just as it did every time he made beautiful pronouncements like that, my heart swelled.

  I’d known from the very first minute he’d rescued me from the side of the road that he was strong, capable, and a take-charge kind of a guy. What I hadn’t been prepared for was his poetic side.

  I leaned against his chest, loving the way his muscles felt solid and warm. When I was in Clay’s arms, it was like there was a protective barrier around me, keeping anything that might harm me at bay. I was fast becoming addicted to the shelter his embrace provided, and it didn’t even scare me. On the contrary, it made me feel safer than I ever had in my life.

  “Life is so crazy, isn’t it?” I mused.

  “I’m not arguing. I’m kind of shocked by the twists and turns sometimes.”

  “Like us,” I added.

  He chuckled gently and kissed the top of my head. “Yeah, I kind of got that was where you were going with it.”

  “I mean, who would’ve thought that when my car broke down on the side of the road, it was going to impact my life this much?”

  “Yeah. God, I’m glad I got there before you were able to call AAA. You could be sitting here on this blanket with a forty-five-year-old bald dude with a beer gut right now.”

  “Give me a little credit!” I exclaimed, laughing and smacking his arm lightly.

  “Fine,” he agreed “Beer paunch. Not full-blown gut.”

  “Much better.”

  My phone chimed inside my purse, and I groaned. Nothing good could come of that chime. Nothing ever did.

  After a moment of silence, Clay said, “Aren’t you going to check that?”

  “Nope.”

  “What if it’s important?”

  “Impossible,” I insisted. “Everyone I actually want to hear from is sitting here on this blanket. That’s a very exclusive group of one, by the way. Therefore, it stands to reason that whoever is messaging me is someone I don’t want to hear from.”

  “That doesn’t mean it can’t be important. Sometimes important news is something we don’t want to hear.”

  Stubborn silence was my only answer. It stretched until finally I sighed. “Oh, fine.” I pulled the phone out of my purse and swiped across the face to bring it to life.

  “See?” I said with a grimace. “I should’ve followed my instincts. I was right on both counts.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s from someone I don’t want to hear from, and it’s also not important.”

  His brow raised as he waited for me to continue. When I didn’t he prompted, “Well, who’s it from?”

  “My mom.” The corners of my mouth tightened involuntarily as I spoke, and my shoulders tensed up like a rubber band. Even before she’d fully dropped a chaotic situation in my lap again, I was already feeling the stress, based on nothing but the certainty that she’d do exactly that. And, most likely, it would be soon.

  “What does she want?” Clay asked.

  “To talk.”

  Clay shrugged. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  Poor, naïve Clay. “It never stays just words for long. She’s gonna want something. And it’s gonna be big. I guarantee it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. If the long history of past experience where that’s exactly what happens is any indicator.”

  He wrapped his warm, strong arms around me like a barrier, and I drank in the comfort they provided.

  “Maybe this time will be different,” he murmured in my ear.

  “Maybe,” I agreed half-heartedly. Clay was well-intentioned, and I appreciated his efforts to make me feel better, but there was one giant, glaring flaw in his logic—he didn’t know my mother.

  So, no. I didn’t think her text asking me to come over to her house and talk was just a friendly invitation to drop by so she could spend quality time with her daughter. My mom didn’t do “quality time.” What she did do was gigantic favor asking. And then, as a follow-up act, she did guilt trips, tears, and threats.

  “Hey,” Clay said reassuringly, “it doesn’t matter, anyway. The only power she has is what you give her. If you don’t want to do what she’s asking, you can always say no.”

  I nodded against his chest when he said this, but inside I was reeling.

  Stupid as it sounded to admit it, even to myself, I’d never really considered that very basic proposition.

  Just say no.

  To my mother.

  Holy shit.

  Could it be that simple?

  My insides shrank from even imagining a scenario where I might refuse her a favor, and I was handed my answer.

  No. It wasn’t that simple. Maybe it was possible, but it would be anything but simple.

  Chapter 36

  Brandy

  “Take your time. I get it, believe me.” My roommate Cat put her hand on my shoulder and turned her compassionate brown eyes on me.

  I gave her a weak smile. If anyone did, it was her. Cat’s relationship with her mom might even be more complicated than my own.

  “I know you do. That’s why I asked you to drive me to see my mom. And I really appreciate it, I do. But I need a minute to work up my inner reserves.”

  She nodded. “Understood.”

  When my mom had texted me earlier in the day asking me to come home and talk with her, I’d considered ignoring it. It had been so damn tempting to just pretend that she wasn’t on my radar, block her number and that of every dive bar in a hundred-mile radius that was dumb enough to keep serving her, and just move the hell on with my life.

  I had Stuart
now. I had Clay. I had Sandy. I had my roommates and other friends. That was enough.

  Right?

  And I’d almost managed it. But, there in the back of my mind, niggling away at me all morning long, was an annoying little voice. “But she’s your mom.” It kept whispering in my ear. “She deserves another chance.”

  Whether that was my conscience telling me to do the right thing or the voice of my co-dependency telling me to hop back on board the enabling train remained to be seen, but I’d given in and listened to it either way.

  Since Cat had a problematic relationship with her own mother, to say the least, I figured she’d be the ideal person to ask to drive me over here. I wouldn’t have to explain my conflicted feelings to her; she would’ve experienced a version of them herself at some point.

  And, as I was now finding out, another benefit was that I wouldn’t have to explain my inability to get out of the car for twenty full minutes after we’d parked while I tried to work up the nerve to go face whatever was waiting for me on the other side of that door.

  Finally, I took a deep breath, opened the passenger door, and stepped out into the crisp air. “Good luck,” Cat called after me. “I’ll be waiting right here for you when you’re finished.”

  Halfway up the walk, I started having second thoughts. Or third, or fourth, or twenty-seventh. Whatever they were, the result was that I had to fight down a last-minute urge to turn and run right back to Cat’s car. That wasn’t the kind of person I’d ever been, and I didn’t know why I was suddenly so averse to dealing with her when I’d been dealing with her my entire life.

  Then, just as my knuckles connected with the wood of the door, realization flooded through me. I knew what the difference was.

  Clay.

  I now knew what it felt like to have someone cherish me and take care of me instead of abuse me, to take care of me instead of drain every bit of life I had to offer. And I liked it. Scratch that. I loved it.