by Saylor Bliss
Lucas’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, and he chuckles to himself, knowing what a treat this for me. He thinks I’m nuts. I might be . . . a little, but he loves me anyway.
Whoa.
Did I just say he loves me? Does he? I haven't really thought about it before right now. My bouncing stops. Flashes of our time together over the last few weeks spin through my head. I see him kissing me. Watching me. Smiling at me. Touching me. Always. My mouth is suddenly dry, and I think I might hurl into his backseat floorboard. He notices the difference in my behavior.
“What's wrong, Charlee? Did you leave your purse at home?” He laughs at his own joke. I laugh too . . . sorta. But my mind is somewhere else. I'm so happy he can't read my thoughts, because they would probably give him whiplash right now. I can't focus on one single thought.
Does he . . . love me?
Is it possible?
Do I?
Oh my God. I do.
We park near the front of the store, and when Mom pulls the seat forward, I rush out.
“Grab Everly for me, please?” I ask, making a beeline for the store.
I hear them both laughing behind me, joking that I’m in a hurry for a sale, but really, I just need a minute—alone. I head straight for the bathroom and close the stall door, shutting the world out. My head drops to my hands as my heart drops to the floor.
I freaking love Lucas Bouchard.
Fuck.
The tears start falling as soon as I think it, and I have no idea why. I should be happy. I should be jumping up and down and screaming it from the rooftops. I Love Lucas! And yet, I feel like puking. How did I not see this coming? We spend almost every single day together. He’s funny, sweet, charming, and he takes care of me. He's a good guy. A really good guy, and he deserves so much better than me.
He doesn't need to know.
I can hide it.
Yeah. That's what I’ll do. I don't really have any other choice, unless I want to break up with him and never see him again. My heart constricts painfully in my chest just thinking that. No, I can't do that. I'll just go on pretending I didn't have an earth-shattering epiphany in the car. I’ll pretend I'm not head over heels in love with him and maybe—hopefully—things will be okay.
My mother walks in the bathroom on my way out, startling me. She looks me up and down before pulling me back to the sink and opening her purse. She pulls out some facial powder and passes it me. I take it, grateful to have something to help cover up the fact that I have been crying, but I don't know how to say that to her.
“It's okay, ya know,” she says, leaning against the wall, watching me.
“What's okay?” I ask.
“Loving him. Letting him love you. Not everyone in your life is going to hurt you . . . like I did.” I don't know how to respond to that. I glance up at her in the mirror. She is staring down at the floor, but a part of her must sense my gaze, because she looks up, and the sadness I see reflected in her eyes captures me. I pull my gaze away, ashamed to witness that much emotion coming from her. I'm supposed to hate her. She ruined my life. But over the last few weeks, I’ve noticed something different about her. She has become selfless.
“Maybe.” I say, and maybe she is right. Maybe it is okay. If only I could find the courage to let myself go so freely. If only I could overcome the one thing standing in my way—myself. I turn, handing her the powder back, and smile a halfhearted smile. That smile says everything I can't say right at that moment, everything I don't know if I'll ever be able to say.
My simple, sweet smile tells her, Thank you. It tells her, I'm glad you have changed, I'm glad I got to know this version of you. She understands the words I can't say, and in her returning smile, I hear, You're welcome, and Maybe one day.
Yeah. Maybe one day, Mother.
We separate when we leave the bathroom, our moment in time over, even though it keeps playing over and over in my mind. I wonder if I was wrong about her all this time. Maybe she has changed. Maybe she was never that person, and the burning addiction just had its grip too tight on her. I wonder if I’ll ever know.
Do I want to?
Maybe.
I find Lucas at the back of the store, digging through the five-dollar bin of movies. He smiles when I walk up, covering his eyes with my hands.
“Guess who.”
“Hmm . . . Michael Meyers?”
“Nope, try again.”
“Captain Hook?”
“Ha! Nope.”
“I know! It's the crazy stalker chick from Alabama. The one who kept leaving me love notes!”
I pull my hands away and stab at his ribs, demanding he take it back. We are both laughing so hard, it's hard to breathe. He manages to twist around and pin my arms to my chest while he holds me close.
“Okay, okay, I take it back. Gah, crazy lady . . .” It feels so good in his arms, cocooned in the safety of his embrace. I don't want to ever move, but it’s time to go, and I don't think we would be able to walk all the way up front like this, although I am willing to try. He pulls back and looks down at me for a moment before lowering his lips to mine. They collide in a blast of heat. Everything I’m feeling comes through in that kiss, answered by his own. I could continue kissing him forever. Who needs food or water when you have Lucas Bouchard’s lips? They are more than enough for me.
We’re waiting by the front of the car when Mom walks out. She only has one bag in her hands, and I wonder what was so important that we needed to come to Wal-Mart for, but that's her business, not mine. She looks across the lot, spotting us, and crosses over. I see it happening in slow motion. She's just made it across the busy intersection when she trips, falling to her knees. I don't think about the fact that I don't like her, or about the hell she put me through. I don't think at all. I rush over to her and squat next to her. Several people are looking now, but no one is checking on her, and this pisses me off. Lucas joins me and helps me stand her back up. Her palms are bleeding from breaking her fall on the asphalt, and there is a giant hole in her jeans, showing a scraped knee as well.
“I'm okay. Really. I'm just a klutz,” she says, trying to reassure me as we walk to Lucas's car. I picked her bag up off the ground where it fell beside her, her white prescription bag having spilled out of it. I want to look at it, to see what medicine she’s taking, but it's not my business. If she wants me to know, she can tell me. I let her ride up front with Lucas again, not wanting to make her crawl into the backseat, even though she complains about it.
Lucas puts the car in reverse and meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. My body is shaking. I try to stop it, to hold it in, but I can't, and then her body starts shaking in the front seat, and the entire car is bouncing from our laughter. I can't hold it in anymore. Tears are running down my face. Maybe it's the adrenaline wearing off, maybe shock. I don't know, but whatever it is, we are both losing it. Lucas looks from one of us to the other before shaking his head and looking back at the road.
“What's wrong, Lucas? Have you . . . never seen a woman . . . trip over a line in the road before?” She asks him, her sentence broken from the laughter spilling out of her. I can help it. I lose it.
“Oh my God! Stop! I can't . . . deal!” This makes Lucas’s hard facade crumble.
“You two are nuts! NUTS!”
“I know,” we say at the same time and then burst out laughing some more. I wish Emma were here right now. She would understand this crazy moment, and later, when I couldn't stop thinking about it, she would be there to go through all the emotions with me, nitpicking them to death until we both thought we understood it all better. I feel like something drastic has changed in the relationship with my mother. Something has shifted out of place, or maybe back into place, I’m not sure. It both scares me and excites me. Some of the hate I had harbored for her over the years sifts away like fog in the morning light. Our shared laughter did that. It created a bridge that tied me to her, and this time, the swampy waters below aren’t as murky . . . they aren’t
filled with as many hunger-craved beasts waiting to take a chunk out of me.
Aaron is home when we get back, and I see the hesitation in his eyes when he sees us all walk in and hears the easy laughter between us all. I head to the kitchen, letting Aaron know that I asked Lucas to stay for dinner tonight. I can see he wants to object. The thought of his baby sister growing up and giving away the love she is supposed to keep just for him is something he is not ready for, but before he can voice his objection, Mom calls through the house, offering her help in the kitchen. I readily agree, and I think that shocks him into silence. He left earlier today for a date, and at that time, I still hated her. Here it is six hours later, and we are cooking dinner together—willingly. He's not the only one surprised by the turn in events. I am too. But today, I am just going to go with the flow and deal with the consequences tomorrow.
Sometimes in life, a wall is built up right in front of you and you can't figure out how to get to the other side. I have been standing on the wrong side of my own wall for a long time. Every time I would start to climb it, my own insecurities would knock me back down. My monster would push me back to the ground and I would give up. It took me a while to realize that up wasn't the only way to get to the other side. So I have decided to walk around it. The wall is still there. I haven't conquered it by any means, but I won't let it conquer me anymore either. From now on, I am going to try to look at my past with my mother as a wall I couldn't climb over. It happened. It sucked. It doesn’t have to be my future anymore. I can choose another path. I don't need to go straight up. I will go around it.
Chapter Twenty- Seven
Charlee
After dinner, Lucas and I go out into the backyard for a few minutes alone after I lay Everly down for bed. As soon as the door closes, I surprise him with a hot, steamy kiss on the lips and then flit away from him before he has time to react. I have so much unspent energy coursing through me, it's hard to stand still. All evening, I have watched him. Over dinner while he chewed his food and when he was helping me wash up the dishes, all I could think about is how much I wanted to feel his lips against mine. Watching his mouth open and close, I wanted to pull his bottom lip in between my teeth and suck on it. I needed to taste his sweet peppermint breath.
It's no wonder I attacked him the first moment I could. His deep, husky laughter fills the air around me now as he chases me around the yard, darting around the old swing set. He grabs hold of my hand and pulls gently, spinning me around to face him. I wrap my free arm around his neck as he leans in. His eyes never leave mine. My breath catches in my throat in silent anticipation.
The desire and . . . love I see reflected in his soft chocolate gaze roots me to the ground. I can't move. I can't think. I can't breathe. I feel like we are sharing something special right this moment, and then the spell breaks. He darts in quickly, kissing me just long enough for me to sigh contentedly but crave more, and then he runs away, yelling “You’re it.” into the dark, humid night.
Game on, buster.
We chase each other through the yard for what seems like hours before collapsing in a pile of flesh and bones in the middle of the yard. I lay my head on his chest, listening to the thrum thrum thrum of his heartbeat in my ear. Its soothes me as much as his hands drawing circles on my back. I could stay here forever in his arms, but soon, he tells me he has to head into town, and I need to go get some rest. I know he's right, but it still leaves me swallowing my disappointment.
Part of me, the ugly part of me, believes he just doesn't want to stay here with me anymore. That he's had his fun, but now it's over and time to move on. I know that isn't the case, but it's still hard to not feel it. I nod my head against his chest and swallow down the ache burning through me.
Wrapping his arms around me, he kisses me sweetly one more time before heading out. When I walk in my room, Everly is sound asleep, listening to the lull of waves playing in the background.
The box on top of my dresser draws my attention. It's been over a week since the last time I read a letter. At the time, I didn’t think I’d ever want to read another one, but after the day I’ve had, it feels right. I pull out the first one my hand touches and turn it over to check the post date. June 2011. I tear it open, careful not to destroy the artwork on the back, and then I sit on my bed and lose myself in this letter from the past.
My beautiful baby,
When I close my eyes, I pretend that I can see you. You're running through an open field, laughing loudly as you trail your fingertips along the tall grass, stopping to pick a flower and pull it to your nose for a quick sniff. Inhaling all that is beautiful and bright and wonderful in the world. Embracing it wholeheartedly, just the way you always have.
You are sunshine. You are light. Nothing in this world is as amazingly beautiful as you, baby. I hope you always remember this. Life will undoubtedly throw many, many curveballs at you. And let me tell you, she has a hell of an arm, but when you miss the catch, baby, don't give up. Pick your glove up again and again. It will be hard. You will want to give up. Don’t.
If I could think of one thing to say to you, it's this . . .
Don't be me.
There have been so many days where I just look to the sky and ask why? Why did you create to just suffer? Just to screw up, and then I remember that I created you, Aaron and Matt, and that has to count for something, right? Maybe, just maybe, that was my reason for existing. I don't know, but on my darkest days, that's what I tell myself so I can make it through.
Don't ever let life hit you so hard that you lose sight of the blessings staring you in the face.
Be stronger than I was. Don’t ever try to forget the past. Embrace it. Allow it to make you stronger, wiser. Don't run from it or hide it. It's all a part of you, but you don't have to let it define you.
Be more.
I will love you every moment for the rest of my life, even if I can only see you and hear you when I close my eyes. It may be hard to believe at times, and I understand. God, do I understand, but it's the truth. I miss you, Charlee—every day—and I pray for the chance to make it all right.
Love, Mom.
Silent, salty tears flow down my face, leaking onto the paper as I read it again and again. I lie back in my bed, letting all the emotions I'm feeling wash over me. They are all so jumbled together, I can't pull a single one out and examine it. They crush together, hitting me harder and harder as I dissect each sentence until I can't read through the tears anymore. My bed is still shaking from the sobs racking my body, and no matter how hard I try, I can't stop them. My hand grips the page, crumpling it in my grasp as I drift slowly off to sleep.
I hear someone enter my room, their socks shuffling across the hardwood floors to my bedside. I try to pry my eyes open, to see who is here and what they want, but Sandman has claimed me. A blanket is eased over the top of me, and right before I fall into the oblivion of my dream world, I feel it. A kiss so soft, I wonder if I imagined it, right on my right temple. A rush of comfort flows through me, calming my shaking, sob-racked body immediately. The kiss feels so familiar, like a memory stored away for safekeeping, and yet so foreign, I'm not sure it's real or part of my dream. My light is turned off. The room is thrown into total darkness, and I drift farther and farther away.
When I wake the next morning, I'm still clutching the paper tightly. It takes a moment for me to remember everything that happened yesterday and what it all means. I rub my eyes with the heel of my hand. Trying to clear the sleep out of them, I suddenly realize that last night was to the first night I’d slept dreamlessly—no nightmares waking me in the middle of the night with cold sweat pouring from my brow, panting, wondering where I was and what was happening. It was refreshing to wake fully rested and ready to take on the day. I smell coffee brewing downstairs and jump in the shower, excited to start my day.
Mom’s door opens right as I open mine, and my mother peers out on her way down the stairs. I stop just outside my door and glance at her, not sure what to s
ay . . . what will today bring? I see her eyeing me, more than likely wondering what type of mood I'll be in today. I offer her a shy, easy smile.
“You headed down for coffee too?” I ask her, pausing at the top of the stairs. Her face lights up with relief as she shuts the door behind her.
“Yes. It smells heavenly,” she replies. “Did you sleep well last night? I thought I heard you last night.”
I suddenly remember the feeling of warmth last night just before I fell into a deep sleep. Someone was in my room. I know that for sure. I woke up this morning to a blanket draped over me and the light being turned off, but I wasn't sure if it was her or not. The soft kiss on the temple led me to believe it was, and her questioning me now is probably her wondering if I was aware. I'm not sure how to reply. Do I let her know that I know, or do I just let it go?
“Yeah, it was fine. And you?” I ask, deciding to avoid the conversation.
“It was good. Really good.”
Our conversation is cut short when we enter the kitchen. Aaron is standing at the counter with two cups in hand. He passes the first to me, and I immediately walk to the refrigerator, reaching inside for my favorite Irish cream coffee creamer. I don't know how anyone manages to drink straight black coffee. It has to be one of the vilest things in this world. It’s bitter and hard to swallow, but if given the choice between drinking black coffee and doing without it completely, then I'd happily choke the horrendous substance down. There is no way in the world I could survive without my daily caffeine intake.
