Again: A Second Chance Romance

by Nikki Chase

Despite how strict our parents can be, Hannah’s always been this happy-go-lucky girl. I don’t know how she does it. I can’t imagine how I can be happy under Dad’s iron thumb, but Hannah’s doing it. Dad’s always trusted Hannah more, though, so maybe it’s easier for her.

  Whatever it is, she obviously knows something I don’t. Maybe she can think of a way for me to knock some sense into Dad.

  I hear the door hit my bags. “Hello?” Hannah yells out. “Is anybody in there? Mom? Dad?”

  “It’s me,” I say, as loudly as I can muster.

  “Oh, Bee!” Hannah exclaims excitedly. “You wouldn’t believe what happened at the school today. God, sometimes I wish I wasn’t a stay-at-home mom, just so I’d have an excuse to get out of these stupid parent involvement activities,” she says as the door clicks shut.

  “I swear the worst thing about being a parent is other parents.” Her heels click-clack on the wooden floor as she walks down the hallway. She stops in her tracks when she sees me slouched on the sofa with a spoon stuck inside my mouth and a jar of Nutella in my hand.

  “What’s wrong?” Hannah asks as her eyes fill with concern.

  Oh, boy. Where do I even start . . . ?

  “I didn’t know you were coming back with Mom and Dad . . .” Hannah approaches the sofa slowly, as if I was some wounded wild animal. “Wait a minute. Didn’t Mom and Dad just arrive in San Francisco yesterday?”

  “Mm-hmm.” The spoon handle goes up and down as I nod.

  Hannah lets out a big sigh as she takes a seat beside me on the sofa. The cushion dips under her jeans-clad butt. She rubs my arm soothingly. “Did something happen?”

  I nod again.

  “It’s still a few hours until I have to pick Marcus up. I’ll make you something, and then you can tell me all about it, okay?” She quickly adds, “If you want to, of course.”

  I nod again.

  While Hannah goes to the kitchen, I shovel another spoonful of Nutella into my mouth. My sister’s a bit of a health nut, so she’s probably going to bring out some sugar-free, gluten-free, fat-free, salt-free abomination. (I still have nightmares about her cauliflower “rice.” Just because the cauliflower is chopped up really small to resemble rice doesn't make it a rice dish.)

  When Hannah comes back, she’s holding two clear glasses of something frothy and creamy. It's brown-ish, so at least it's not a kale smoothie like she served me last time.

  “Try it,” she says, smiling as I gingerly take one glass off her hand.

  Cold condensation covers the outer surface of the glass. I take a sip. “This is… an ice cream float?”

  “It's good, right?” Hannah asks, wearing a smug expression on her face. “It's frozen vanilla yogurt and beer.”

  I take another sip of the sweet, creamy, cold beverage. This is exactly what I need. I didn't expect this, but it's a nice surprise. Maybe Hannah's eased up a little on the healthy eating. Or maybe she's correctly guessed that I have an emergency on my hands.

  “What happened?” Hannah asks as she sits down. “Was it Dad?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, man. Glad I had some of Earl's beer and Marcus’ yogurt left. From the way you look, I can already tell this is bad.”

  “What's wrong with the way I look?”

  “You always wear black when you just don't care anymore. Normally, you’d be in one of your pretty dresses or skirts—the ones with pockets. I don't know how you manage to even find women's clothes with actual pockets.”

  I check myself. I am wearing an old pair of black jeans and a black T-shirt.

  “Also,” she adds, “your hair's a mess, and your eyes are all red.”

  “Geez, thanks for the confidence boost.” I take another sip of Hannah’s delicious concoction and get up. “I have to use your bathroom.”

  I just remembered I haven't peed since the plane landed. I do my business in Hannah’s spacious, impeccable bathroom with the pretty emerald-green tiles and black-and-white photography on the walls. I wash my hands with the fragrant liquid soap and turn off the tap.

  . . .

  Weird. It won't stop dripping.

  I twist the tap again.

  No matter how hard I twist it, the water won't stop. Stubborn fucking drops of water.

  Anger rises within me. What is wrong with this thing? Other than this, Hannah's bathroom is perfect.

  I inspect the tap more closely, but it looks fine. It's freaking gleaming.

  What was it that Aiden did to fix my kitchen sink? I’m pretty sure he just tugged on some things and twisted a few other things.

  What is wrong with me? Why can't I fix this?

  As I catch my own reflection in the bathroom mirror, I realize I’m crying. Fat drops of tears race down my cheeks.

  I can't fix it. Not like Aiden can.

  I can only try to not inflict more damage. That's what I’m doing right now. Damage control. I'm doing the right thing.

  I’ll stay here for now and finish my internship, then I’ll find a job somewhere far, far away, not just to get away from my family this time, but also to get away from Aiden. Because I swear to God, if I bump into him one day, even if it's just for a minute, even if it's another ten years from now, I’ll shatter into pieces. I’ll throw myself at him and try to steal him away from his wife and kids if he has them by the time we meet again.

  My heart clenches. The pain—I can't believe this is just emotional. There's a dull ache inside me that makes it hard to breathe.

  I grab some tissue and blow my nose as more tears stream down my face. Now my nose isn't blocked anymore, but I can't stop the tears. Gasps interrupt my sobs, and soon, I’m holding on to the cold edge of the stone vanity with both hands while my eyes drip as constantly as the stupid tap.

  “Bee, are you okay?” Hannah asks from behind the door.

  I sniffle. “Yeah.” My voice comes out shaky.

  “Can I come in?” she asks.

  “Yeah.”

  She probably doesn't buy that I’m okay.

  I unlock the door.

  Hannah pushes the door all the way open, takes one look at me, and takes me into her embrace.

  My sister feels soft, but strong. Her love and concern wash over me like a healing salve, and I cry in her arms, my shoulders shaking against her sturdy ones. I don't stop until it gets too hot and uncomfortable.

  Holding some tissue up to my nose, I put down the toilet cover and plant my butt on top of it. “I told Dad I was seeing Aiden again, and he made me leave him.” I pause. “He's still in the process of making me, technically, because I haven't actually left him. I don't know. I can't just ghost him, can I?

  “But if Dad finds out I got in touch with Aiden, even if it was just to say goodbye, he's going to destroy Aiden’s life. And I can't do that because how is he going to land another internship next year, with a record of having been fired? I can't take his whole life away from him.

  “Why does Dad do this to me, Hannah?” I ask as I look up at Hannah, who’s leaning against the door frame.

  She smiles wryly. “That's just the kind of dad he is,” she says. “Remember when I was fifteen and I had my first boyfriend? Dad made you come with us on every single date to make sure we weren't having sex.” She rolls her eyes.

  I huff a small laugh, even as snot continues to escape my nostrils. “Yeah. He made me leave a birthday party to go to Applebee’s with you and your boyfriend.”

  “It's good to finally see a smile on your face.” Hannah steps inside the bathroom and sits on the edge of the bathtub, right across from me. “Now, I have no idea what you were talking about. Want to fill me in?”

  I take a deep breath. This is a long story, but I have time and Hannah’s nice enough to make time for me in the midst of her busy day.

  Up until last night, I’d been spending every waking hour either working or being with Aiden. I hadn't had time to tell Hannah anything. So I start from the beginning and end with me being dropped off at her front door by our parent
s and getting her spare key from under a flower pot.

  “Dad can't do that,” she says, probably for the fourth time since I began my story.

  I shrug. I don't have to explain Dad’s craziness; that's the benefit of talking to Hannah. She gets it.

  “You know what's crazy?” I ask. “I get the feeling that Dad’s only doing this because he's still angry I sat in a diner on my own for a few hours past curfew, ten years ago.”

  “Hmm… I was told you’d ran away from home,” Hannah says.

  “I didn't end up doing it,” I say, “although I would've, if Aiden had shown up. But then Dad showed up instead, and I had to go back home with him.”

  Hannah goes silent.

  “Please don't say anything about how I wasn't supposed to run away from home,” I say, “because that doesn't excuse Dad’s behavior. He uses bribery and blackmail to get his way.”

  “I’m not going to defend Dad. What he's done is indefensible.” Hannah pauses. “But—listen to me before you say anything—now that I’m a parent, I can kind of see things from his perspective at the time. He was afraid of losing you, and he didn't know how to deal with that.”

  “Bribery and blackmail, Hannah,” I remind her.

  “Okay,” she says, “but hear me out. Listen and tell me if you notice a pattern.

  “Dad gave you a schedule that planned your days, down to the hour. You started working part-time behind Dad’s back. Dad found out and made you quit. You continued to see your boyfriend, whom Dad didn't like, and you spent more and more time with him. You even wrote in your diary about wanting to elope with him.

  “Dad freaked out, so when he saw an opportunity, no matter how wrong it was, he took it. He sent your boyfriend to another state and took away your phone and email address. You reacted by running away from home, but at that point, Dad had already check-mated you.

  “See what happened?”

  I shake my head. That just sounds like a summary to me.

  “I’ve noticed this push and pull between you and Dad,” Hannah says. “He’d create overly strict rules, which would make you rebel against them, which would only convince Dad his rules need to be even stricter. It's a vicious cycle.”

  I pause. I guess she has a point. “So what do I do? Is there a way to convince Dad to let this go?”

  “I don't know. I’ll have to give this some thought,” Hannah says. Her phone rings, and she raises herself to take it out of the back pocket of her jeans. “

  Sorry, it's Earl. Could be important,” Hannah says as her eyes focus on the screen.

  “Oh, um, you should probably hear this, actually,” Hannah says as she raises her gaze to meet mine. “Aiden’s asking Earl if he's heard anything about you. Apparently, he got to the hospital for work this morning, and someone told him you’d quit.

  “What do you want Earl to tell him?”

  Aiden

  “Yeah, sorry I can't be of more help, man. I’ll let you know if I hear anything about Aubrey,” Earl says over the phone.

  “Thanks.” I end the call.

  He's obviously lying.

  Earl's one of my best friends, and he's great at many things, but lying isn't one of them. He said all the right words, and his explanation made complete sense, but the guilt . . . I could hear it in every syllable.

  He wouldn't lie to me unless he's been instructed to do so by a higher authority: his wife. Which, of course, means that Hannah knows exactly where Aubrey is.

  Hell, seeing as she's quit Oak Crest Hospital, Aubrey’s probably back in Vegas. She may even be at Hannah and Earl’s house right this moment.

  If she was upset with her parents when she got back to Vegas, she would've opted to stay with her sister. And Aubrey definitely would've told her sister to tell her husband that she's not there.

  Anger courses through my veins, quick as an arrow, filling my whole body with violent heat.

  I can't blame Earl for lying to me, though. I probably would've done the same in his situation. His loyalty lies with his family, especially now that he's married. I get that.

  The problem isn’t Earl. The problem is his asshole father-in-law, who keeps employing dirty tactics to take my woman away from me, again and again.

  I swear if I catch sight of his ugly mug . . . Let’s just say it would be really hard for me to hold myself back.

  I used to have to hold my own as a poor, skinny kid in a nasty neighborhood; some old, WASP-y nerd of a doctor would have no chance against me if this were to get physical.

  That wouldn’t go very well with Aubrey, though. She doesn’t seem to be a big fan of her dad’s bullying ways, but she’d probably say something like, “violence is not the answer.”

  I pull my duffel bag from my wardrobe and throw in a pair of jeans and a couple of T-shirts. I’ve checked the hospital and Aubrey’s apartment. I didn’t find her in either one of those places, obviously, so now it’s time to visit the next place on the list—with or without Earl’s confirmation.

  I zip up my bag and turn off the light as I walk out of my bedroom.

  “Where are you going with that big bag?” Mom asks when she sees me making my way across the living room.

  “Vegas,” I say without breaking my step.

  “What?” Mom jumps up from her couch and rushes to my side. “Did you get in trouble, A? Is it because of that girl?”

  “Mom, I don’t have time to explain.”

  “It’s that girl, isn’t it? I told you she was trouble.” Mom grabs my arm and refuses to let go.

  I let out a big sigh. “Mom, I’m sure her dad tells her the same thing about me, okay? But I’m an adult now, and so is she. Everyone needs to stop trying to control our lives.”

  “A, you don’t understand. I don’t have a problem with you being together, but you know bad things will happen to us if her dad finds out.”

  “I understand completely, Mom.” I stare straight into the her blue eyes, so similar to the pair I see in the mirror every day. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do what you want me to do this time. I have to get Aubrey back, and I don’t care what her dad does. You can’t stop me either.”

  “A, you can’t go,” Mom says, her voice shaking.

  “I have to.” I pull my arm free. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

  Just like I always do, I think to myself.

  Don’t get me wrong; Mom tries her best, and I appreciate all the hard work she’s put in as a single mom. But it feels like she’s grown so reliant on me sometimes, and I’m exhausted.

  As soon as I make enough money, I’m going to move out and continue to help her with her rent. She’ll have to learn to live on her own, even if she needs therapy to get there.

  Unfortunately, if things go the way I expect them to, it’ll be a long time before I have some money to spare.

  “I’ll tell you everything when I come back, Mom,” I say finally before I turn my back and walk away.

  In the cab on the way to the airport, I ignore the chatty driver until he gets the message. I spend a few minutes on my phone, booking the cheapest ticket to Las Vegas and a hotel room.

  Then, left with my own thoughts, I stew in exasperation.

  I’m angry at Aubrey’s dad for trying to control her. Poor Aubrey . . . she must feel so trapped all the time.

  I’m angry at my mom for being complicit in this deception. I can’t believe she’d betray me like that, and I can’t believe she thinks she has the right to ask me to leave the woman I love.

  But most of all, I’m angry at myself. I feel so powerless.

  I can’t help but feel like there’s more I could’ve done. If I just had enough money, I could’ve paid off Mom’s debt and just whisked Aubrey away. But how was I supposed to make two-hundred thousand dollars of extra money to give away, when I was always busy either studying or working some minimum-wage job?

  I would’ve had to buy bitcoins at the right time or something. I read somewhere that if I’d bought a hundred dollars’
worth of bitcoins in 2010, I’d have more than four million dollars right now. Or Facebook shares—I should’ve bought those years ago.

  But who am I kidding? It would’ve been a gamble to buy those things back when they were still cheap. I didn’t like those odds, and I still don’t, especially when money has always been tight for Mom and me.

  That said, I’ve decided to not give a fuck anymore about money.

  I pay the cab driver and make my way to the check-in desk.

  I can always make more money. But I can never find another girl like Aubrey. I need her in my life, no matter what it’s going to cost.

  I don’t care if she doesn’t want to be found. I’m coming for her.

  Aubrey

  It doesn’t rain much in Vegas. If it did, the casinos and hotels wouldn’t be competing to build the biggest, most showy water fountains to flaunt how much better they are than their rivals.

  But when it does rain, it’s a spectacular thunderstorm.

  For a desert city, Las Vegas has had a lot of flash floods. Without adequate drainage, when it gets really bad, there’s nowhere for the water to go but onto the streets and into buses, cars, and homes.

  It was time for the storm of the year when I was waiting for Aiden at the diner ten years ago. I had a tall glass of pink strawberry smoothie on the table. As I drank the sweet beverage, I watched the drops of rain tapping on the glass window beside me. Every time someone came into the diner, a bell rang and I sat bolt upright to watch the doorway.

  I kept expecting to see a tall, lanky boy. His hair was probably wet, and his clothes, too. I wondered if he was wearing his favorite flannel shirt. I imagined the tiniest detail about him, down to the fat beads of rain clinging to his dark hair before falling to the tiled floor. I imagined it like I could wish him into existence.

  But no matter how hard I tried, he never materialized. Not even after the diner closed and I stood just outside the door, taking shelter from the rain under the small roof overhang.

  Instead, my dad showed up a few minutes past midnight and dragged me home, giving me a lecture in the car as the rain kept falling outside.