Love Love

by Beth Michele

  “Not yet, Mom.”

  “Well, maybe you need to start working harder. If you’re going to have a chance of moving up in the company…”

  Thankfully our food comes and there’s so much of it that it takes the pressure off the conversation for a little while. That is, until my mother opens her mouth…again. “So Brad, tell me what you like about my daughter.”

  Fran chokes on her salad. I’m turning blue and silently being rolled away by Oompa Loompas. Gah! I never should’ve invited Brad. This is so humiliating!

  “Well, I’m not sure where to start. It’s a pretty long list.” A man after my own heart. Oh, that’s right, he already has it. “She has a knack for clogging toilets.”

  I burst out laughing and the spaghetti flies out of my mouth and lands on my mother’s shirt. Brilliant.

  “Gabby! This is a new blouse, for heaven’s sake.” Oh well, not anymore.

  “Actually Mrs. Willis, your daughter is incredibly special. I first noticed her sense of humor, and then everything else followed. Her thoughtfulness, the way she cares about other people, the way she appreciates life. Her overall sweetness. She has a beautiful spirit.”

  Sadly, all of the things Brad listed my mother knows nothing about. My mother sighs and looks bored and completely unimpressed. Completely unfazed by the man singing her daughter’s praises.

  Brad captures my chin between his fingers. Brown eyes to blue, we’re lost. He leans close to my ear and whispers. “I want to kiss you like crazy right now.” I have an incredible urge to take him in the bathroom and let him do just that. Eh, What the hell.

  I look over at my mom. “Can you excuse us for a minute?”

  Frank winks and Brad looks confused, but stands anyway. Grabbing his hand, I lead him towards the ladies’ room. Now I’m the one who’s completely insane.

  “Gabby, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” He always shows such concern for me; little does he realize I tuned my mother out in seventh grade.

  When we get to the hallway, I turn my head from left to right, and then duck inside the ladies’ room, pulling Brad with me. It’s a single bathroom, hooray; but locking the door is essential. I push Brad up against it and crash my lips to his, plunging my tongue into his mouth as he grabs my hips and pulls me close.

  He breaks the kiss, stunned and panting. “Gabby, what was that for? Not that I’m complaining, but whoa.”

  “You talking about toilets turned me on.”

  He runs his hand through his shaggy hair and laughs, then takes my hand and kisses my fingers one by one.

  I look up at him with apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry about my mom.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about. She’s nice…in a nasty sort of way.”

  I give him another quick kiss. He sure knows the way to my heart.

  “I’m actually having a hard time believing you’re really her daughter. You’re nothing like her.”

  I lift up on my tippy toes to find his mouth. “You get another kiss for that.”

  We walk back out hand in hand, and I suddenly feel so much better. When we arrive at the table, Fran’s smirking and my mother looks confused.

  “Everything okay, dear?”

  “Yes, Mom, everything’s fine.” More than fine.

  My mother looks at her watch and then at me. “I hate to cut the evening short, but I have to get back to review some details for tomorrow’s events.”

  “No problem, Mom.” No problem at all.

  One by one, Mom gives us all her conventional awkward hug. “It was great seeing you, dear. I’ll chat with you soon. Brad, it was a pleasure meeting you. Franny, great to see you as always.”

  We say our goodbyes and I can finally breathe again.

  ***

  Brad’s traveling out of town for two days to meet with some people about possibly opening up another shop. It’s the first time we’ve been apart since we started dating a couple of months ago. I’m going to miss him, a lot.

  I’ve been thinking about what Brad said to me that night in Central Park, about going back to school, which is why I’m on my way to Parsons The New School for Design on Fifth Avenue to get some brochures and meet with the program director. I did some research online and apparently they do have a terrific Master of Fine Arts program.

  When I arrive, I’m met at the front desk by a very professional looking girl wearing a brown pencil skirt, cream silk blouse, and what appear to be black Jimmy Choo heels. Her blonde hair is pulled up in a perfect ponytail and her diamond studs are a fabulous complement. Seems appropriate, after all, this is a design school. I’m feeling seriously underdressed in my blue blouse, skinny jeans, and blue Converse sneakers. At least I’m color-coordinated. I take a seat and pick up a magazine called Spaces until my name is called.

  All of about two minutes later; “Gabrielle Willis.”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “Hello, Gabrielle. I’m Edith Hanley. Come on in.”

  Making my way to her office, I trip on the hardwood floor and hear a girlish laugh from the reception desk. There’s absolutely nothing on the ground; I tripped over my own sneaker. What a lovely first impression.

  I take a seat in one of two velvet wingback chairs that face a large glass window overlooking Fifth Avenue.

  Edith takes a seat in a chair opposite me, crossing her legs and propping her notebook on her lap. Her features are sharp; she has short, cropped red hair and big blue eyes surrounded by a pair of black designer glasses. She’s wearing a black tailored suit with a crisp white shirt. Her outfit screams serious, but her smile is welcoming. “So, what brings you here, Gabrielle?”

  “Well, I’m interested in learning more about the Master of Fine Arts program. I currently work at Landon & Castell as an assistant and I have my Bachelor’s in Interior Design from UC Berkeley.”

  “That’s fabulous! Then you have a bit of a head start. We have a very comprehensive program with both seminar and studio classes, as well as the opportunity for work outside of the classroom.”

  “That sounds great.” I’m pretty excited. It feels good to be here, and I finally feel like it’s the right time for me to do this. I can probably complete the program on a part-time basis in two years.

  “I’d like to give you some brochures and additional paperwork for you to review. Also, we’re having a program information night next Wednesday at six if you’re interested.”

  “Thank you, Edith, I appreciate it.”

  She gives me a big smile with those huge blue eyes and pats my hand. “Here’s my business card. Just give me a call and let me know if you have any additional questions.”

  “Terrific. It was great meeting you.” I shake her hand. “Thanks again.” I make my way out of the building, taking my two clumsy feet with me. Once I’m outside, I lean against the glass, look up at the sky, and smile.

  Fran and I are having a girls’ night tonight. With Brad out of town, Fran’s taking a break from Kyle and spending some time with me. I stop at the corner store on the way home to pick up a giant bag of Swedish Fish and a box of those Devil Dogs Fran loves so much. I’m excited to spend some quality time with Fran. She’s been with Kyle so much lately, and now with Brad and I spending all this time together, we’re like ships passing in the night.

  I browse through the narrow aisles to see if they have any Twizzlers and pick up some orange juice.

  “Clark, put that back, we need to get going.”

  Immediately, I twist my body to the voice. A frazzled woman is speaking to a little boy with dark hair and wide blue eyes, his little fingers clutching a Hershey’s Bar. Closing my eyes, I draw in a deep breath. Our little boy might have looked just like him. I could really use that Hershey’s Bar right about now.

  I walk back to our apartment, devouring the entire Hershey’s Bar along the way. By the time I get to our door, I’ve got a wicked stomachache. I open the door, excited to share my goodies, but am completely unprepared for what I see. Fran is sitting on the sofa, her m
ascara-smeared eyes riveted to what appears to be a spot on the carpet. I call her name, but she doesn't respond.

  “Fran, what’s going on? What happened?” She still doesn’t look at me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was in a catatonic state. I shake her shoulders until she looks over at me, fresh tears forming in the green of her eyes.

  With a shaky voice, she exhales. “My-my mom called me. She…told…tol-told me that my dad committed suicide yesterday.”

  Dear God. I pull her to me and hug her tightly. Holding on to her, I feel the overwhelming grief over the loss of a father she never even knew, who had no interest in knowing her, only hurting her. The problem is, your father is still your father.

  After several minutes, I force her green eyes to meet mine. “I’m so sorry, Fran. But listen to me. This isn't your fault. You didn't push him to this. He had severe issues and...”

  Fran stops me mid-sentence. "I'm not crying because I blame myself, Gabby. I'm crying because I'm relieved that he can never hurt me again. I'm fucking relieved because he's dead. My own father. Isn't that sick?”

  The tears start, and they don’t stop. I’m crying, too; for her, for her mom, even for her dad, who made his own decision. We sit together for what feels like hours, until Fran’s tears subside. I lift her chin and look into those beautiful green eyes. “Fran, your father hurt you in horrible, unthinkable ways. He was never a real father to you. We’re brought into this world helpless and innocent, with nothing but love and trust for our parents. Your father took that away from you, and took advantage of that love. He didn’t deserve your love. So, no, you’re not sick.”

  She lets out a long, cleansing sigh. “I love you, Gabby.”

  “I love you, too, Fran.”

  Fran and I didn’t watch movies tonight or eat junk food. But we did have our girls’ night. Two girls who care about each other more than life, shut out the world and cocooned themselves with the strength and love of one another.

  When Fran’s finally asleep in my bed, I slip out to get a drink. My heart feels so weighted. She didn’t deserve to have such a shitty father.

  I take a seat on the sofa, curl up under a blanket and grab my book, feeling the need to get lost, even for just a little while. Concentrating on the book isn’t even an option. I can’t stop thinking about Fran’s dad, about Clark, and about the source of disappointment I am to my parents. That’s when the tears start to fall. It’s then that I hear my phone buzz. It’s Brad.

  “Hi, baby.” The sound of his voice soothes me.

  My shoulders slump down. “I’m so glad you called.”

  “What’s wrong? You sound like you’re crying?” He’s immediately concerned. He really cares about me.

  “It’s Fran.”

  “What about Fran?” His sincerity warms my heart.

  I pull the blanket high up to my chest, as if it can shield me from the nightmares of the world. “She found out today that her dad committed suicide.” It feels so good to let it out and tell Brad.

  “God, Gabby. How is she?”

  “She’s sleeping now, but it’s been a rough night.”

  “Do you want me to come home?”

  I want to say yes, but I know he’ll be home tomorrow. “No, it’s okay.”

  “Will you tell Fran that I’m thinking about her?”

  “Of course.”

  “You okay, baby?”

  I’ll be much better when you come home. “Yeah. I just feel so bad for Fran, you know? She didn’t deserve any of this.”

  “I know.”

  “How are your meetings going?” I ask, desperate for a change of subject.

  “Good, except I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too. Oh, I have some good news, though. I went to Parsons The New School for Design today to talk about their master’s program.”

  “That’s great! How did it go?” His enthusiasm gives me so much self-confidence.

  “Really well. It’s given me a lot to think about. They actually have an information night next Wednesday, and I might go.”

  “Well, if you want some company, I’d love to come along. Remember how much you love my apartment? I do have a knack for design, after all.” I hear the smile in his voice and it makes me smile, too.

  “I’d like that.”

  “So I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay. Hey, Brad?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ve been feeling really bad about some of the things my mom said to you at dinner the other day.”

  “Don’t feel bad. You’re not responsible for your mom. You’re completely separate from her. In fact, I think she’s actually from another planet.”

  His dig makes me giggle, but does nothing to ease my guilt. “She was just so freaking condescending.”

  “Baby, I’ve heard a lot worse. Anyway, it’s just life, right?”

  Clark bumped my shoulder and shrugged his. “It’s just life, right?”

  All the blood drains from my body and I go silent.

  “Gabby?”

  Nothing.

  “Gabby? You still there?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Dream of me, okay.”

  “Okay. Goodnight.”

  My face feels wet and my nose is dripping. Running to the bathroom, I splash cold water over my face. My heart is beating fiercely and I can't control my breathing. Bending over the sink, I lean down on my knees. It feels like I’m choking. There’s a lump in my throat and I’m struggling for air. Breathe, Gabby, breathe. I exhale a harsh breath. Jesus. It’s been well over three years, but I still see his face, feel his presence, and yearn for him like it was yesterday. Brad’s words. Clark’s words. This has to be a sign. I was supposed to be with Clark. He was my happily ever after. But damnit, he’s dead and I'm very much alive. I’m supposed to feel dead inside, but I’m starting to feel life. I just can’t.

  I’m getting too close. I can’t do this. I’ll end up losing him, just like I’ve lost everyone else. I look down at my courage bracelet and watch a single teardrop fall.

  ***

  The sun wakes me up the next morning, and for the first time in a while I’m not smiling. My eyes are puffy and my body feels stiff. I can barely drag myself out of bed. There’s nothing to look forward to today. My insides are twisting at the thought of what I need to do. I just hope I’m strong enough to do it.

  I’m on my way to Brad’s apartment, pushing through the millions of bodies in the subway. I see no faces. Everything is blank. Just how I feel.

  When he opens the door and I see his face, I almost lose it. He pulls me close and for a second I tell myself everything will be okay. But I know that’s a lie.

  Brad kisses me tenderly. “I missed you, baby.”

  I pull back and stare into those penetrating brown eyes, my brain running wild, my heart beating crazily against my chest. Sweat drips from my brow and I’m afraid I can’t do this. I have to do this. How did I even let this happen? Everything was perfect in my controlled little world, even though somewhere deep inside I was imploding, my organs stretching until I couldn't breathe. I didn't even realize how numb I was until Brad came along. He brought it all to the surface and I just want to stuff it back down. It's easier not to feel; feeling leaves you vulnerable to so much pain.

  He strokes my hair gently. Lovingly. “You look like you've been crying. What's wrong, baby? Talk to me. Is Fran okay?”

  “She’s okay,” I mumble. “Kyle’s with her.”

  “That’s good,” he says, sighing into my hair.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. I have to do this. I couldn’t bear it if he ever left me. I have to walk away before he does. Taking Brad’s hand, I lead him over to the couch.

  All the color drains from his face.

  The tears are threatening now and my breath is coming fast. “Brad, I think we need some space.” His eyes go wide, but I continue. “You’re…well, you’re amazing and wonderful and witty. You’re kind and sweet. You make me smile.”
/>
  He interrupts me, holding his hand up. “Stop. Don’t do this.”

  “Let me talk, Brad.” I rush the words out as fast as I can. “I’ve never felt so much before. For a long time, I shut off my feelings because it hurt too much. Somehow, you found your way into my heart. But…”

  “Gabby. I don’t want space. You don’t know what you’re saying. I want you. I…I care about you so much.”

  I look down at my hands, the pain filling his eyes too much to bear.

  Brad lifts my chin to his, not letting me break eye contact. His hands cradle my face. “How can you think this will be better for me, Gabby? Better for us? You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I know what you’re doing. You’re not giving me space, you’re walking away! Damnit, Gabby, I’m not going to let you walk out of my life. You don't freaking get it! I was dead inside before I met you. You awakened something in me, and if you think I'm letting you walk out of my life, you're more insane than I am. If you want space, I’ll give you that, but I’m gonna fight like hell for you. With every breath that I have, I'll fight for you.”

  I push him away and stand up, trying to put some distance between us. “Brad. Just stop. You have to listen to me.”

  “No, I don’t. You listen to me now,” he demands, moving towards me. He rakes his hands through his hair and begins pacing the blue shag with heavy feet. “I get it. I really do. I know you’ve pushed away feeling for so long. You want to stay numb; it’s easier that way. That’s how I was, too. First after my mom, and then Clara, I shut down and wouldn’t let anybody in. Then, one day, I woke up and realized that they wouldn’t want me to die inside. They’d want me to be happy. They’d want me to live. So I honor their memories by living, by being happy.

  “It’s not that…” But he’s right, it is.

  He stops pacing and grabs my hands in his. “I know you miss Clark. But he wouldn’t want you to shut down, Gabby. He’d want you to live your life, to find happiness again.”