Still Us

by Lindsay Detwiler

  No time like the present to loosen up the morals, though, and explore a little. Maybe Grandma Claire can show me a thing or two about living a little.

  And who knows, maybe she’s right about the casino workers. It’s time I stop sulking and stop looking to the past. If I don’t feel optimistic about my choice and about the future, well, I’ll just have to fake it until I make it, good underwear and all.

  ***

  “That Lou wasn’t too bad,” Grandma Claire exclaims as we get to her machine.

  “Grandma, don’t distract me from the problem at hand. I can’t believe you brought Trixie,” I whisper in a hushed voice, leading her past security and trying not to look suspicious.

  Grandma just clutches tightly to her huge Michael Kors bag—which is currently housing her twenty-two-year-old cat, Trixie. I’m failing already at the whole escorting Grandma to the casino and keeping her out of trouble thing.

  “First, acknowledge that Lou wasn’t too bad.”

  Lou is the security guard at the front door. Lou is also about thirty years my elder.

  “If you say so, Grandma. But we’ve got more pressing issues. We need to get home. We cannot have a cat in here.”

  “Oh, hush. I couldn’t leave Trixie at home. She’s old. What if she died? I’d never forgive myself.”

  “Well, shoving her in a bag probably isn’t helping things. She can’t even move in there. How did you even bring her along? I didn’t even hear her.”

  “Trixie doesn’t meow much anymore. And don’t worry. I put some food in there, and we’ll get her some water from the drink fountain. I do this all the time. Trixie’s a pro. She’s my good luck charm.”

  I cringe, shaking my head as Grandma plops down at the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory machine. This can’t be happening.

  But Grandma just sits and unzips her purse a little, the old, wheezy cat sticking her head out the hole. There’s so much wrong with this scene, especially since I’m a vet.

  Nonetheless, looking at the cat as Grandma scratches her chin, she does look comfortable and used to it all. Of course, she’s also half-deaf and so old, she probably doesn’t even know where she is. I succumb to the madness, plopping down in a seat beside her.

  “Come on, Lila, loosen up. It’s all good. Have fun. Spend money. May the fates be with you.”

  Deciding it’s no use arguing, I grab a twenty from my purse and decide to go all in, my crazy Grandma and Trixie by my side.

  When the minigame on my machine is triggered, Grandma Claire almost leaps out of her seat, and Trixie lets out a meow. A worker nearby eyes us suspiciously, but I cough to cover the noise. He keeps on walking.

  “You got a minigame! You did it! Now we just have to hope for the golden ticket and you’ll be a winner.”

  My excitement is short-lived. The golden ticket.

  That’s what I jokingly used to call Luke. Dammit, does everything have to remind me of him?

  I bite my lip, trying to repress the memory of him dancing with me in the kitchen, singing the golden-ticket song from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

  I shake my head, trying to get rid of the image. When the minigame is done with all its embarrassingly loud hoopla, I frown.

  I’ve won fifty cents after all of that. I just don’t think the fates are on my side, or maybe Trixie isn’t as much good luck as Grandma thinks.

  “Rats, Trixie. No luck here. Let’s go get you a drink and then we’ll head to the Alice in Wonderland machine.”

  I watch Grandma totter over to the self-serve fountain and pour Trixie a cup of water. The cat, as if trained, stretches its neck out to lap up its water. A few elderly women eye the scene but don’t say a word, Grandma’s glare challenging them.

  I smile at how crazy my life is now, because if I don’t smile, I just might cry.

  ***

  It’s back to reality the next day and back to the office—not that this is a bad thing after my trip to the casino and all its excitement. Grandma was thrilled because she managed to win fifty bucks.

  No use explaining to her that she spent one hundred. What’s funnier, she actually pointed to the gamblers anonymous hotline and made a joke of it. I didn’t explain to her that she was a few more Thursdays away from needing it.

  Leaving the house at the crack of dawn before even Mom and Dad were up, I patted Henry on the head, kissing him goodbye. He’d be alone with Grandma Claire today after Mom and Dad headed to their respective offices.

  Oh, the horror. Hopefully he was just in for a day of game shows and soap operas, but with Grandma Claire, who knew. He could be on a plane to Vegas for the afternoon.

  When I get to the office, Zoey’s already organizing files. “Hey, you. How was your day off yesterday?”

  “You have no idea,” I say, leaning on the perfectly clean counter, enjoying the calm before the storm once office hours officially begin.

  “I can only imagine. Moving back home and all. Must be scary.”

  This would seem rude coming from a coworker, but Zoey isn’t your average coworker. We’ve been best friends since junior high. She paid for my lunch on the first day of seventh grade when I’d forgotten my lunch money. The friendship blossomed over the years into sleepovers, cover stories for our high school sneak outs, and wholesome, honest truths.

  “Yeah, it is. You know how good old Lucy Morrow is.”

  “Demanding? Condescending? Manipulative?” Zoey asks. She’s been privy to the inner truth of the horror that is my mother.

  “You’ve got it. Although, mercifully, she doesn’t have any vacation days left, so she’s been working a lot. Yesterday was just me and Grandma Claire.”

  “Oh, no. Did you two get into trouble?”

  “If by trouble you mean Grandma Claire made me drive her to the casino behind my parents’ backs and snuck Trixie in her purse, then yeah. But officially, we didn’t get caught, so I guess that’s a good sign.”

  Zoey hands me my cup of coffee, going above and beyond her vet tech duties. She knows I’m not a morning person. “Sounds like a blast. I’ll drive Grandma Claire any day she wants.”

  “Please don’t encourage her. Who is on the lineup today?”

  “Um, let’s see. You’ve got Carl the beagle and Julia the parakeet. Both in for checkups.”

  I shake my head. Julia the parakeet, owned by Mrs. Saten—yes, pronounced exactly as you’re thinking and perhaps a bit accurate of a description—is in at least once a month for a checkup. The damn bird bites me every time, and every time Mrs. Saten insists I taunted it, am a horrible vet, and will be getting a terrible Yelp review for it.

  “Oh, God. Anyone else?” I ask, hoping the day doesn’t get much worse.

  “A few new patients, a sick elkhound, and a hamster in for a checkup. Nothing extraordinary.”

  “Good. I could use some regular days.”

  “Besides Lucy Morrow, how are you doing? Really.” Zoey leans on the counter near me now as I gulp my coffee.

  I shrug. “Okay.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Lila. I’ve known you since the time butterfly clips and choker tattoo necklaces were cool. I know when you’re lying.”

  “All right. It sucks. I just, I hate doubting myself. I thought breaking up with Luke was going to be the best thing for me, that it was going to get my life on track and get me headed in the direction I wanted. But it just actually feels like everything is falling apart.”

  Zoey nudges me. “Hey, chin up. Of course it’s going to feel that way. It hasn’t been that long—what, like a couple weeks? Give it time. You need to regroup. You had forever planned with him, or at least the start of it. You can pack the boxes and move out, but you can’t separate two lives that quickly. It’s going to take time. And then, once you get over the initial shock of it all, you’ll find your way. Right now, you’re just thinking about all the good things. But don’t forget about the things that made you call it quits. You can’t settle in love, Lila. You know that.”

  I give
her a weak grin, leaning on her shoulder. “When did you get so smart?”

  “When you were busy studying to be a vet and I realized being a vet tech was easier, less stress, and more fun.”

  “You’ve got me there. Trade me?”

  “Ha,” she says, “you wish. There aren’t enough dollar signs in the world to make me take on that damn parakeet today. No way. You can keep your bigger checks and that white coat.”

  I smile, thankful that even if my grandma is sneaking cats into casinos and my mom is probably going to be intolerable to live with, I do have the greatest friend a girl could ask for.

  Chapter Six

  Lila

  One word is all it takes to rock my resolve even more than it already has been. One word makes me swirl in a sea of memories, makes me dance with him in my mind. One word on my phone late at night makes me realize the empty spot beside me in the bed is where he used to be, where he perhaps could still be.

  One word makes me question it all.

  That word?

  Hey.

  A simple “hey” texted from that familiar number, my favorite picture of him lighting up my screen.

  This single word texted makes me realize two things:

  He’s thinking about me.

  I’m not 100 percent sure I’m ready to let go.

  Because when I see that text, I think about calling him. I think about how easy it would be to let his deep, rugged voice caress me back into the familiarity of us. I think about how I could stop missing him, stop fighting this fight, whatever it is, and just give in.

  The minutes tick by, too many minutes. I stare at his face, at the single word, and wonder how it got here. I wonder how the Luke and Lila who used to ride the same roller coaster ten times so we could get ten different snapshots at the photo booth got here. I wonder how the Luke and Lila whose first dance was in a rainstorm with gusting winds got here. I wonder how the Luke and Lila who had mapped out their side of the couch and their side of the bed and their side of the bathroom sink suddenly were the only side to all these things.

  My fingers almost give in, my heart weak.

  But then my head jolts me back to reality, like it needs to. I know I can’t succumb to him, or things will never change. If I go back now, I’ll be stuck in that limbo forever, stuck swirling in the world that wasn’t quite enough. I’ll be stuck always mourning what could’ve been if he’d been different or if I’d been strong enough to seek something more for life.

  As much as I love that man who swept me off my feet, I also know what got me here. Zoey’s right. I need to remember that everything wasn’t rosy. Everything wasn’t perfect and, as I’ve told myself since I said yes to Brian in tenth grade for the dance when I really wanted to go with Zander, I won’t settle. I haven’t settled in my life for anything. I can’t settle on this.

  So, I turn the phone over, my heart ripping silently at the thought of him waiting for a text that won’t come. I know he’s not guiltless, though. He made his mistakes along the way, and he has to know why I’m not texting back.

  Resting my head back on the pillow, I try to soothe myself with thoughts of the future, with thoughts of how many things are going right in my life, and with thoughts that eventually, this will certainly be the best, wisest choice.

  ***

  I sit at the corner table, the one completely opposite what used to be our corner.

  “Where’s your partner in crime?” Dot asks, hobbling over to my table now that the crowd has dulled down. I put down my peanut-butter doughnut, looking up at her. Her red lips match her permed red hair, as they always do, and she’s wearing her Dot’s Doughnuts shirt.

  I sigh, hating to break the news to her. I gesture for her to have a seat, and she obliges.

  “We broke up,” I say, and Dot automatically makes a face like I’ve just strangled a kitten in front of her.

  “I was worried about that. I haven’t seen you two in weeks. I knew it couldn’t be good news.”

  So Luke hadn’t been in to see Dot either. Apparently he was putting it off just as I was. Interesting.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just… well, you know what this place means to us.”

  “And you know what you two mean to me. I was getting worried. When neither of you called in for your weekly deliveries or popped in to say hello, I was starting to panic. I miss you, both of you.”

  She reaches across the table to pat my hand, and the guilt does really creep in. Dorothy—known as Dot by her customers and her family—has been a great friend to both of us, practically a grandmother. How could I blow her off?

  Dot’s Doughnuts opened about four years ago, the brainchild of Dot herself. She always loved baking, especially doughnuts, and she just thought our town could use a shop. Competing with the chain doughnut shops, she even added a delivery feature to her restaurant, hiring her own grandsons to do the driving. Luke and I have been known to eat our share of doughnuts from here, popping by at least once a week together and even ordering delivery throughout the week. We’re hooked.

  It's not just about doughnuts, though. It’s about Dot. She’s been there from the start of us, and she’s been more like family. We get her gifts on the holidays, and we always keep her updated on our lives.

  Just not this, apparently.

  “I’m sorry. I feel awful.” And it’s true, I do. It’s just another way this whole thing with Luke is throwing everything off.

  “Honey, don’t feel awful about not telling me. I understand. This place has so much meaning for the two of you. But don’t you think the fact you can’t bring yourselves to come in says enough?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She smiles the mysterious smile, raises an eyebrow, and stands. “You know exactly what I mean. You two are beautiful together. I knew that from the first day you crazy kids wandered in here right before closing time. Do you think I would’ve worked overtime for any old couple? No way. I knew you two were special. I was excited to be able to witness the magic from the beginning. Honey, let me tell you, that kind of magic doesn’t just come along any old day. Trust me.”

  She leans in to kiss my cheek before sauntering back to her position at the counter to wait on a group of teenagers. I find myself misty-eyed.

  Looking over at the wall, I see the wedding picture of Dot and Louie, her late husband. I think about all the wonderful stories she’s told Luke and me over the years, all the times she smiled and talked about how lucky she was.

  If anyone would know love, Dot would. She had sixty-two beautiful years of it. She made me want to believe in love, in marriage, in the whole lot.

  But now, even Dot can’t make me see clearly. Even Dot can’t make me believe it’s all going to be magically okay.

  I finish my doughnut and stroll out after saying goodbye, the sun angering me with its incessant brightness.

  Dot’s words roll over and over in my mind, but I try to silence them.

  I can’t look back. Not everything can be solved with a doughnut or with misty-eyed magic.

  This is real life, and sometimes in real life, a girl’s just got to know when it’s time for a change.

  ***

  “I want a major change,” I say, exuding confidence I don’t really have. I take a breath, parading into the hair salon like I actually am ready to let go of the long blonde locks I’ve been growing since high school.

  But, as Maren and my grandma always say, a woman who cuts her hair is making a change. Perhaps the reason I’m not ready for change is because I haven’t cut my hair. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

  I set myself in Jacque’s chair at J’s Jazzy Cuts, our local top salon. Jacque just gives me a nod, scrunches his nose in appraisal of my ends, and spins me around.

  And for the next three hours, he yanks on my hair, trims it, colors it, fluffs it, and styles it.

  In complete silence.

  If you think having a chatty hairdresser who just asks you all kinds of questions for hours is tiresom
e, you should sit in the silent chair of Jacque. For part of the time, I wonder if I should spark conversation, but his scrunched face tells me he’s deep in concentration, and I don’t want to interrupt the artiste. For another large chunk of time, I try to cough to cover my growling stomach, since Jacque—the only stylist in the place—does not believe in playing music. I feel more like I’m in my high school library than a salon. Not quite a day of pampering.

  The rest of the three hours are spent with me in silent terror, my armpits a little sweaty at the thought he’s cutting way more than I wanted. I start picturing myself with a supershort pixie cut and wonder how that will work with my forehead. I also start picturing myself with a Bieber-like haircut, which also would not be flattering on the forehead. I shudder at the thought and start saying a few Hail Marys that Jacque is as worthy of Maren’s stellar review as I hope he is.

  When the blow dryer is placed on the counter and Jacque silently spins me around, I take a breath and stare in the mirror.

  My hand automatically moves to touch my hair but Jacque, who towers over me, slaps my hand away.

  “Touching equals frizz. Don’t.”

  His voice is deep and smooth, actually sending a shudder through me, despite the fact he’s basically threatening me. I slowly force my hand to retreat and return my gaze to the mirror.

  It’s actually good. Like really good. Maren was right.

  He’s given me an inverted lob, but the side bangs totally make it look chic and not fifth-graderish. He’s added in some dark caramel lowlights that makes the blonde pop and somehow makes my pasty white skin not look so drab.

  I find myself smiling at Jacque. Jacque does not smile back.

  “I love it. Thank you,” I say as he shoos me out of the chair. I jump up and down a little bit, thrilled as I do a little flick of my hair. Jacque glares.

  He leads me to the counter and I hand over my card for an exorbitant amount, which really should be going to my move-the-hell-out-of-Mom’s-house fund. Still, a girl’s got to prioritize sometimes, and this was clearly needed. I feel like a new woman already.