by Celeste, B.
My jaw ticks. “That was the woman who gave birth to me,” I correct. Bridgette is my mom. There’s a very obvious difference. “I’m sorry, guys. I’m not in a party mood right now.”
She loops her arm around mine. “Okay.”
I frown. Mason is still hanging around a group of his actor buddies. “You and Mason were planning on staying out. You don’t have to come home with me. I’ll just call a cab.”
She waves her hand. “Mase is going to some bar with his friends. I want to be with you and make sure you’re okay.”
Briggs gestures toward the exit. “I can drive you two home. I’ve about had all the celebrating I can stomach. Need some real beer.”
Steph snorts. “You know, you’re not so bad, Briggs. And here I thought you were an asshole all of this time.”
He gruffs and throws out the Styrofoam cup with the remnants of poorly made coffee in the trash bin by the door. “Don’t let that get out. It’ll ruin my reputation.”
That makes me laugh, which causes Steph to join in. Briggs just shakes his head as we wave goodbye to Mason, following Briggs to his giant pickup.
When we’re safely tucked inside Steph’s place, pajama-clad with slippers and bathrobes, I expect to cry while Steph tells me it’s okay.
But I don’t shed one tear for that woman.
For the first time in my life, I realize that some people aren’t worth the pain.
“Steph?” I ask quietly.
“Hmm?”
“Can we go shopping again tomorrow?” I shift on the couch, where my legs are draped across her lap. “There’s a bookstore we passed the other day that I want to check out.”
She grins. “We’ll make a day of it.”
And the following day, it took one book purchase to make me realize that everything was going to be okay.
41
Everett / 27
Saturday morning, I walk into town for something to drink at Landmark Café after a five-mile run. My shirt is slick with sweat and clinging to my body, so I fan it out before heading into the tiny establishment.
People tend to leave me alone when I’m out and about. I don’t pay them much attention when they lean in to each other and whisper, because caring takes too much energy. What’s done is done, and I can’t change anybody’s opinions of me.
Summer is almost over, and the August temperatures have been insanely bi-polar. Being holed up in the cabin has left me stir crazy, so I run any chance I can or hang out by the lake when the sun sets and read.
But today I needed to come into town and be around people, despite their reactions. Half the town doesn’t care anymore. Bigger news has spread across Bridgeport between business deals going awry at competitive companies and the death of a rival businessman.
When I walk past Painter’s Choice and glance in the window, I notice a small group of kids surrounding two tables in the center of the room. Melanie is pointing at one of their paintings and smiling, then turning to help another one out with their project.
I jump when a hand hits the window I’m standing next to. A little girl with earbuds plugged into an iPod stares at me, then gestures toward the bag I’m holding. It has an old-fashioned donut and chocolate scone. To be honest, I’m not sure why I bought the scone. There’s only one person I know who eats them, and she’s not around. It just happened to be the last one, and my stomach had an odd craving for chocolate.
Not just for chocolate.
The little girl glances between me and the bag, making me chuckle. Melanie’s attention is captured when I enter the studio, so I shoot her a quick wave. She smiles and walks over to me, noting my messy appearance, then the bag of pastries.
“Isn’t that kind of counterproductive?”
The little girl pops up beside me. “It’s for me, Mel. Right, dude?”
Melanie’s brows raise as the girl takes the bag from me and plops back down into the chair in the corner.
“Save one for me,” I tell her, not caring which one she chooses. Landmark makes great old-fashioned pastries, and they’re best when they’re fresh. But I’ve been needing something that reminds me of River, some inkling of hope, even if it’s in scone-form.
Melanie laughs at the girl. “Charlie, take your time with that. I don’t want you getting sick before you leave.”
The girl, presumably Charlie, peers up at us from the half-eaten donut in her hands. There are crumbs scattered everywhere.
“No worries, Mel. I’ve got another thirty minutes to let it settle.” She pats her stomach and digs into the remaining half.
Chuckling, I turn to Melanie. She’s smiling at me, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “She isn’t back yet.”
Wetting my bottom lip, I nod. “I know. I just wanted to stop by. Needed some clarity, I guess.”
Charlie snorts. “How are you going to get that here? It’s a paint shop.”
Melanie scolds her. “What did we just talk about, Charlie? You need to be respectful of people.”
She sinks into her seat. “I’m just saying, it’s weird for him to come here for clarity. I mean, don’t people go to church for that?”
The spitfire in this kid amuses me. “I’m not really a church-goer, but I suppose you’re right. Sometimes clarity just comes in places that reminds us of people.”
Melanie squeezes my arm. “She left behind some paintings, if you’d like to look at them. Something tells me she had specific inspiration behind them.”
“Aren’t you mad at her?” Charlie blurts.
I turn to her. “Why would I be mad?”
She shrugs. “She left us all behind, didn’t she? It seems like all of us have reasons to be mad at her. I don’t care if she says she’ll come back. Most people who say that never do.”
Melanie kneels next to her. “River is going to come back, Charlie. You have to believe in people once in a while, even if you’re used to it not working out. Okay?”
Charlie’s expression doesn’t change from the doubtful snare it casts.
“I can’t be mad at River,” I tell her softly, catching her attention. “How can I fault her for leaving to figure things out? To come back a better version of herself? Sometimes we all need that.”
Melanie smiles up at me.
“She promised she’d be here for us,” the girl whispers, playing with the brown takeout bag in her hands.
I doubt this kid cares what I think, but I tell her anyway. “I’ve known River for a long time now. There’s always a reason for why she does things, and it always works out in the end. If she says she’ll be here for you, she will. Being here and teaching you guys is important to her.”
Charlie doesn’t say anything, so I don’t know if she believes it or not. Her lack of argument paired with the indifference on her face tells me maybe she’s considering it.
Melanie gently takes the bag with the remaining scone in it and passes it to me. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I heard from a red-haired birdy that she’s coming home tomorrow. Her flight lands around four.”
My mouth dries. “She is?”
A small smile plays on her lips. “Like I said, she’s coming back soon. She loves too much about this place to stay away for too long.”
“Did she … does she sound okay?”
Sympathy lightens her eyes. “Honestly, Everett, she sounds better than I’ve ever heard. I think California did her good.”
“Good,” my voice cracks. “That’s …”
She pats my arm. “Like you said,” she tells me gently, “it always works out in the end.”
I find myself nodding and shoving a hand through my damp hair.
River is coming home.
Tomorrow.
It’s been almost three months since she left, but it feels longer. Is her hair still purple? Is her milky skin the same creamy tone or tanned from the west coast sun?
“I’ll take a raincheck on seeing those paintings,” I tell her, backing toward the door.
Melanie gr
ins. “I’m sure River would be better at showing them to you anyway.”
My attention shifts toward Charlie. “Remember not to give up on her. Sometimes distance is hope in disguise.”
42
River / 23
Bridgeport hasn’t changed at all since I left. The trees are a darker shade of green preparing for autumn, the air is blissfully cooler, and the sun isn’t violent against my skin. I know coming back means facing a lot of wrath, but I’m ready for it. Sort of.
Mom and Dad take me out to an early dinner after picking me up from the airport, and we go to Underground East. They offer to go to the diner because of how much I love their burgers and milkshakes, but I want a spot that doesn’t remind me of Everett—a spot I can talk to my family about everything that’s happened without memories of him. Just for one more day.
After ordering, we sit around the small table in comfortable silence while our waitress sets down our drinks. I smile when I see Dad order coffee, no cream and sugar, and Mom order tea with milk and honey. I don’t drink coffee or tea often but did occasionally in Cali when I missed them.
Mom sips her tea and then brushes a short strand of hair behind my ear. “Your hair looks so good, sweetie. I bet it felt better in the dry heat.”
Dad chuckles. “Nothing feels good in that dry heat. Right, River?”
I forgot he went to college in California. When I was looking into colleges the summer before my senior year of high school, he showed me his Stanford University yearbook and all the things he did on different sports teams and clubs. I think he was disappointed when I didn’t apply, and even tried using Steph’s interest in UCLA to get me to consider California. In the end, I think he’s happy I chose to stay close to home.
If I had moved away so soon after high school, I would have missed out on a lot. Like getting a permanent job at Painter’s Choice, seeing Dad’s company expand, and watching Mom flourish in her own endeavors in the party planning business. When I first came to Bridgeport, she took time off from her business to focus on me. I didn’t realize what a big deal that was at the time until she went back to work and struggled to find clients with all the new competitive companies that had started up in her absence.
“Having a family means sacrifice sometimes,” she tells me. “But it’s a sacrifice I will make one hundred times over to have you in my life, sweetie.”
They’ve always made sacrifices for me, and what have I done? Acted on feelings I had no right having and risking everything they’ve built. JT Corporation is the foundation of Bridgeport’s economy, and any type of scandal could make or break them just like Mom’s business did when she cared for me.
“How was your time there?” Mom asks, leaning forward and resting her arms on the table. Her elbows, of course, are off the tabletop, which makes me force mine away too.
I think of Steph and Mason, who both hugged me and wished me well when they saw me off. Steph cried and reminded me not to eat all the fancy chocolate she stuffed in my bag as a going-away present, and Mason told me to come back anytime I wanted. I even saw Briggs before going to L.A.X. To my surprise, he hugged me and introduced me to his wife and daughter, who were both beautiful and witty, with sarcasm a lot like Briggs. He asked if I would be okay, so I assured him I would be and told him I found reasons to go back home. He didn’t pry, just wished me well and passed me a peanut butter sandwich, crust off, for the journey to the airport.
Smiling, I tell my parents about everything I’ve done. I mention the movie set I worked on and the people I met, and the places Steph and Mason took me to. Their eyes get big when I show them a few pictures of me that Steph took when I had purple hair and laugh when they try telling me they love it.
They’re not very good liars, like me.
What they do seem to be genuinely happy about is how much fun I had while working on set, even though Dad kept telling me he wished I would have just had fun some other way. But the distraction working for Briggs offered me is why I felt like I could come back. Plus, if I didn’t get a job on set, I wouldn’t have met Briggs or listened to his advice.
When our food arrives, our conversation eases as we dig into the food in front of us. It doesn’t stop me from saying what I need to though.
“About Everett …” Clearing my throat, I poke at the eggplant lasagna with my fork. “I have been struggling with my feelings for him for a long time. Sometimes I would try to convince myself that I only liked him because he was the one person outside of the family that paid me any attention even when he didn’t have to. Like maybe I could tell myself it was a silly crush based on nothing other than friendly affection.
“But that wasn’t it. The older I got, the more I realized that it wasn’t that simple. I kept reminding myself that how I felt didn’t matter because he had Isabel, but when he started paying more attention to me than he used to, it felt like …” I take a deep breath. “It felt like there was finally a chance for us, even though she was still in the picture. I know that makes me sound, well, not like a very good person, but all I could think about was how the feelings didn’t seem so one-sided anymore.”
I sneak a peek at them both through my lashes, noting their unreadable expressions. Neither of them looks angry at me, not like I expect them to. We never had a heart-to-heart before I got on the airplane, because they thought it’d be better if I had time to sort through everything away from the influences of Bridgeport. While I did think about Everett at night when I tried hard not to, I forced myself not to dwell on it during the day when there were other things to be done. It didn’t stop me from thinking about all the times Everett was there for me, all the times I knew he and Isabel fought, and how we stood a chance because he chose me in ways I shouldn’t be proud of, but my heart took as a victory anyway.
He kissed me with the type of raw passion that jumpstarts every piece of me, like he was trying to revive me from death. And, in some ways, he was. I existed for years, walking around Bridgeport with both physical and emotional scars that tied me to my past. I would hide behind my hair to stay unnoticed, keep quiet in classes to be left alone, and float through every day like a ghost.
Everett Tucker breathed life back into me when I didn’t even believe that I deserved it. Every foster parent who told me I wasn’t worth it, every foster sibling who would rat me out because they thought I was the weakest link, even my own biological mother made me feel like I didn’t deserve the type of happy ending that happens in fairytales.
With a single touch, Everett blows apart those cemented thoughts until their shards are nothing but dust coating the naysayers.
Robert sets down his silverware and locks eyes with me. His eyes are light but serious, like what he’s about to tell me is something I’m going to need to listen to.
“I’m going to tell you what I told Everett when he spoke to me about the situation,” he begins, voice firm and fatherly. I never thought fatherly had a tone before, but Robert’s voice is the epitome of it. “You two need to figure out exactly how you’re going to handle the situation. Just because people haven’t been talking about it doesn’t mean it isn’t on their minds. If they see you together—”
“Why would they see us together? I saw the ring. I know about the … the baby.” I whisper the last word, because it still hurts to say, even though Steph said it can’t be true. When I told her about the confrontation, she started stalking Isabel’s Instagram account, which is full of selfies and pictures of her with her friends drinking, dancing, and all very much slim and toned as always. Someone even took a live video of Isabel at some club doing shots, which Steph said means she lied about the baby, unless she didn’t care about its wellbeing, but we both agreed not even Isabel Allen was that cruel.
The engagement though … well, none of the pictures disproved that. In fact, she didn’t have any images of her hand that would show a ring on it or not, which Steph said could be a good sign.
But I can’t rely on signs.
It’s Mom who reaches o
ut and takes my hand with hers. Her skin is warm and soft, probably from the cherry blossom lotion I know she loves using. “Sweetheart, Everett and Isabel haven’t been together in months. They ended things before you left.”
My eyes widen.
Dad tips his head once. “And as for the baby, that’s a bit complicated. It’s also not our story to tell, but I can assure you there is no baby. The challenges you two face are strictly your own at this point.”
I’m not sure what to say, so Mom squeezes my hand once and leans back into her chair. She takes Robert’s hand and they smile at each other for a moment then glance back at me.
Mom says, “We’ve always wanted you to be happy, River. Your life hasn’t been easy, so you deserve to find happiness. We just wish you would have done things a little differently, is all. Everett is a good boy, a good man. One who we’ve always considered family. You both have pasts that made you grow up too fast, so if there’s anyone who truly understands what you’ve gone through, it’s him. I’m a firm believer that things happen for a reason, and maybe Jill brought you to us, so we could bring you to him.”
Robert squeezes the hand that’s holding hers, but their image blurs when tears well in my eyes. My heart flutters in a different way than when I’m around Everett. It’s full, like Jill knew that these two kind-hearted people would change my life in more than one way. And the tears that sting my eyes are the kind that trickle when I’m so overwhelmed with gratefulness that I can’t help but let some of the bad pieces of me escape through the salty liquid.
Pushing past the pressure of emotions building in my ribcage, I blow out a steady breath. “There’s something else I have to tell you guys. Shortly before I left, my birthmother came up to me. She … she didn’t say much because I wouldn’t let her, but I knew without a doubt she wasn’t lying about who she was.”
Mom’s eyes glaze over with more tears as she takes my hand with her free one. “We know, River. She’s stuck around Bridgeport. In fact, we’ve been wanting to talk to you about her, but we weren’t sure you were ready.”
