Because of You

by Sam Mariano

  Maybe it really hadn't been her. It was somewhat disappointing to think about, but maybe Mike had just cheated on Sarah with someone else.

  That thought made me a little angry. As much as my mother loved him, why would he choose to cheat with someone else? Did he really just not care about her? Had she been wrong about him? If it was someone else, the entire memory of their relationship was a lie. I almost felt like not only was he cheating on Sarah, but my mother's devotion.

  It was a silly thought, but I still didn't like the idea that he would do that, even if I did think Mike was dirt bag.

  On a whim, I decided I would read the journal she kept in April. I opened up the unfinished journal, although I had always hated reading that one. Oddly, it was the barest of them all. There were several blank spaces in that journal, days where she would just not write anything at all. You would have thought that the journal she was keeping when she finally snapped would be the most interesting, or at least the most depressing.

  It wasn't. It was boring, to be perfectly honest.

  I flipped to the end, to the very last entry in her journal. She was just talking about Wuthering Heights. She was writing how she had lost both copies of the book. She said that the other day she had been looking for her second copy, but she couldn't find it. She said she knew she had it a couple months before, because she had been reading it. Apparently she had told someone about it, and although she normally didn't loan out her books, since she had two copies, she let him take a copy, telling him he should give it a try. "You might relate," I told him, were her exact words.

  And that was it. The anticlimactic last line of her journal was about loaning someone a book.

  I was sure she had never gotten the book back since she died the next day, but my grandmother had boxed up all her books, and since I knew I had Wuthering Heights, I knew Grandma must have found the second copy.

  My wild goose chase was finally over, and of course I had found nothing very exciting, which was pretty disappointing. It would have been much more interesting if I would have somehow discovered a passage that I had missed before, and solved the mystery.

  But maybe there was no mystery.

  Maybe Mike was just a typical, disappointing guy, and my poor mother had been disillusioned. Perhaps he had never really even wanted to be with her. Maybe he had been playing her all along.

  It seemed I would never know.

  I was caught by complete surprise when Stephanie told me that Kayla suggested we all hang out sometime. I thought that was pretty weird since Kayla absolutely hated me and had even gone so far as to vandalize my car.

  When I mentioned this, Steph said that Kayla wanted to extend her apologies for acting like such a bitch, and she wanted us to hang out with her and Greg, this new guy she was seeing.

  I hated the idea, but Steph looked so hopeful that I somehow found myself agreeing.

  Talking Derek into it was the hard part. It wasn't so much a matter of talking him into it, but waiting until we were in bed and he was almost satisfied, then adding, "Oh, and we are hanging out with Steph and her friends tomorrow night, right?" when he wouldn't have been able to refuse me if I asked him to buy me a car.

  I was completely prepared for awkwardness, especially when Kayla decided she was driving, Greg would sit shotgun, and Derek, Stephanie and I could sit in the back.

  I ended up stuck in the middle, jammed between Stephanie and Derek, while Kayla and her incredibly loud and obnoxious new boy toy blasted music and decided to sing along. Out of all the songs they played on the longest ride ever, I liked two of them.

  We ended up at the mall, where Kayla –who was definitely a size two, if not smaller—tried on a pair of jeans, modeled them, then proceeded to ask Derek if the jeans had made her butt look big.

  I felt a small surge of satisfaction when Derek replied, "I have no idea, I didn't look at it. Ask your boyfriend."

  I didn't have much money, so I didn't want to waste my time looking at anything. I did end up buying a pair of earrings that were on sale 2 for $8. Steph and I both found one pair that we liked, so we put our money together and bought them. Then Kayla hauled us into another store, and I saw this really pretty autumn-orange sweater that would go perfectly with the earrings I bought. I really wanted to try it on, but it was $25, and I only had $12 left, so I didn't feel the need to tease myself.

  Steph noticed that I kept gravitating back to the sweater, so when she found a shirt to try on she insisted that I go try on my sweater.

  It was just as pretty on as I expected it to be, and I wished I had more money so I could buy it, but I didn't. I really hated not having any money.

  Derek saw me admiring it, but I merely offered him a smile in the mirror and said, "It's pretty, isn't it?"

  He nodded with a slight smile, his eyes twinkling. "Very pretty."

  I nodded, then went to change back out of it and into my boring T-shirt. When I came out, Steph told me I should buy it, because it was really pretty on me. I shook my head and put the sweater back on the table. "Maybe another time," I said.

  "Why?" Derek asked, glancing at the sweater.

  "I don't..." I thought about just saying I didn't like it that much, but I decided just to tell him the truth. "I don't have enough money to buy it," I said with a tiny smile. "No big deal."

  "How much do you have?" he asked, looking at the price tag on the sweater.

  "Twelve bucks," I responded.

  He nodded and continued to tag along as Kayla held up various items of clothing, then decided to buy them, reminding me with every item of the money she had cost me by vandalizing my car. If not for her being such a petty bitch, maybe I could afford my sweater.

  I was a little thrown when it felt like Derek was trying to hold my hand, but despite my bewilderment, I let him. Then I felt him slip me something and I looked down to see a $20 bill.

  I shook my head. "No. Thank you, but no," I said, passing it back.

  "Go get the damn sweater," he said, shoving the money back into my hand.

  "I am not taking your money," I said stubbornly.

  He shrugged. "Fine, don't take it. I'll buy the sweater," he said, turning and going back in the direction of the sweater.

  "No," I said, grabbing him by the hand to stop him. "It's really very nice of you, I appreciate the gesture, but you really don't have to do that. It's just a sweater."

  "A sweater that you want," he replied.

  "A sweater that I can't afford. I'm not taking your charity."

  He rolled his eyes. "Don't be an idiot. It isn't charity. I'm allowed to buy you things."

  "You are not," I argued.

  "Why?" he responded sardonically. "Is that too much of a boyfriend thing to do?"

  I didn't even have to think about it, I simply nodded. "Pretty much."

  "Too damn bad," he said, walking over to the table with the sweaters.

  "Derek, don't," I said quietly. "If they see you buy it..."

  "That's why I gave you the money, hon," he replied easily.

  The endearment caused me to tense a little.

  "Please just take it," he said, pressing the money into my palm. "I really don't want to have to explain why I'm buying myself a very feminine sweater."

  I cracked a smile, taking the money, and also holding his hand for a few more seconds than I really needed to. "Thank you," I said quietly.

  "You're welcome," he said, lightly smirking at me. Leaning in, he whispered in my ear, "You can thank me later."

  I grinned, picking up the sweater and tossing a wink at him over my shoulder. "Oh, for sure.”

  He raised an eyebrow at my response and I just gave him a jaunty little smile, not realizing until I spun around that Kayla was watching us, her expression less than friendly.

  I immediately put a few feet between myself and Derek, walking over to pay for my sweater.

  As soon as we left the store, Kayla made a show of flirting with her new boy toy. Derek didn't ignore her, but he did wat
ch with amusement for a few minutes, then he grew bored and started asking when we were going to be done.

  Kayla seemed a little miffed when, on the ride home, Derek and Greg actually talked more than anyone, seeming to get along like old friends.

  I had to admit I was pretty amused. Kayla invited us on the shopping trip to try to show me up, and instead, she went home pouting while I went home with a beautiful sweater and a new pair of earrings.

  Honestly, I enjoyed watching her plan completely backfire.

  A few days later I wore my new sweater to school, and I had lunch with Derek and Stephanie. After I sat down, I realized I forgot to get my drink, but Derek said he wanted one, too, so he'd just get mine while he was up there.

  As soon as he was out of earshot Stephanie elbowed me and gave me one of her happy little smiles.

  I automatically smiled back, not even knowing what her smile was about. "What?" I asked.

  "It's just so cute," she said.

  "What is?" I asked cluelessly.

  "You two. I take it you're officially dating now?" she asked, smiling at me in girly confidence.

  I raised my eyebrows, shaking my head. "Oh no. We're just friends."

  "Don't lie to me, Nicole Harmon," she said , her tone mockingly stern.

  "I'm not lying," I told her.

  She rolled her eyes. "You better be. It's obvious he likes you. I've never seen Derek play the puppy dog to anyone, surely not to Kayla."

  "He doesn't play my puppy dog," I argued.

  "For Derek he does. He would've never gotten Kayla a drink, even if he would've been up there."

  I had a few choice responses to that, but since Kayla was Steph's best friend I held my tongue. "It's just a friend thing, Steph," I insisted. "It's like how we bought our earrings together so we got a better deal. It wasn't a difficult thing to do, but not something you would really do with someone who isn't a friend. Derek and I are friends. I think we're actually becoming pretty good friends, but... just friends."

  "And are you satisfied with this?" she asked skeptically, watching my expression.

  I smiled and nodded. "Oh yeah, I love it."

  She smiled at me oddly, and it looked like she was going to say something else, but then Derek came back, taking his seat beside me and sliding a can in front of me.

  "Oh, thank you," I said, opening up my can and glancing at him.

  Once in a while, although I would never admit it to Stephanie, the stray thought did enter my mind that Derek was suddenly an awfully friendly friend. But as soon as the thought would surface, I would push it right back down.

  If I wasn't careful, I would be as silly as Stephanie, thinking that Derek and I were actually dating.

  Chapter Nine-

  Things between me and Derek were finally nice.

  There were no more bad moods; he didn't even attempt to hate me anymore, and he seemed to be over having to stand up for me to his family.

  All in all, our relationship seemed to be at an all-time high. I spent most of my days with Derek. If I wasn't at work or at school, I was usually at his house, which ended up working out, because Mike was working about 50 hours a week, and he was rarely home anyway. The blonde woman that I had found out was Derek's stepmother was never actually home for more than ten minutes, so we didn't have to worry about her either.

  For the most part, we had the place to ourselves.

  I did go home one day when Alex happened to be there, and he looked up, feigning surprise, and said, "You still live here?"

  I merely smiled and rolled my eyes, continuing down the hall.

  The only problem I had with spending so much time at Derek's was that I would often want to look at one of my books, and they wouldn't be there. Derek didn't actually own books, so there was no chance that he might have it. His stepmother had a few books in the living room, but they were all diet books. Inevitably, I ended up bringing my own books over and usually forgetting them there, so even Derek's house felt more like home.

  One night after our homework was finished and there were no more episodes of The King of Queens for us to watch, Derek mentioned something about the movie Scarface. I had never seen the movie, and when I told him as much, he responded with wide-eyed shock.

  "You've never seen Scarface?" he asked in disbelief.

  I shook my head. "Nope. The only thing I know about it... isn't Al Pacino in it? And there was a line about, 'Say hello to my little friend.'"

  "Wow," he said. "I feel bad for you. Scarface is one of the best movies ever made."

  "Well, why don't we rent it sometime?" I suggested. "I'll watch it with you. Maybe I'll like it."

  He shook his head. "We don't have to rent it. We own that movie. Go get it, we'll watch it now."

  "Is it in the living room?" I asking, climbing off his bed.

  "No, my dad has it in his bedroom," he said, gesturing across the hall. "Go on in there, I don't think he's home yet. It's in the shelving unit to the right of the bed when you walk in the door."

  I hesitated at the door, glancing back at him. "Um, I'm not sure that I should be going into your dad's room."

  He rolled his eyes at me. "Just go. If you're not back in 20 minutes, I'll send a search party."

  I sighed at him and looked both ways in the hall before I walked out of his room and quickly made my way into his father's room. There were no lights on, so the only illumination was the moonlight through the window, which actually proved to be surprisingly sufficient. I was glad, because I didn't want to turn any lights on. His dad was at the store, so he could pull in anytime, and I didn't really want him to see his bedroom light on.

  I walked softly into the room as if I might disturb it, and I immediately saw the shelving unit Derek told me the movie was in. I glanced over it once quickly, but didn't find it, so I went back over it again. I couldn't see the top shelf very well because I was too short, but I stood on my tiptoes, ignoring the picture in the left side of the shelf, which showed a much younger Mike with a very pregnant Sarah standing outside of somebody's house. I only glanced at it for a moment, then I went back to scanning titles of movies.

  Suddenly I frowned, not finding Scarface, but noticing that there actually was one lonesome book in that shelf. The way the moon happened to be positioned, I couldn't quite make out the title at first, but I was curious to see if it was another diet book. I inched my fingers up there and wedged them between the book and the movie next to it, and I yanked it out, pulling it down.

  My pulse skittered when I saw that the book just so happened to be Wuthering Heights.

  When my heart started beating again, I stared at the book for a few seconds with wide-eyes, thinking of my mother's last journal entry. Maybe it was just a coincidence, I reasoned quickly. Maybe it had nothing to do with my mom.

  Still, the book was hidden up in that corner, and it was the only book he seemed to own.

  But if my mother had indeed been the one to loan him that book, that would mean... that she actually saw him. As far as I knew, my mother hadn't actually seen Mike... well, she hadn't spoken to Mike in years. But if he was the person she had given the book to...

  I carefully opened the book, lost in thought, and I flipped through a few pages until I came upon an aged, folded up piece of paper. No, a couple pieces of paper.

  My eyes widened a little and I peeked over my shoulder, making sure no one was witnessing my snooping, then unfolded the worn pieces of paper. The first words I saw were, "Dear Mike," and they were in handwriting that I knew better than I knew my own.

  My heart skipped another beat as I realized it was a letter from my mom. And he had kept it.

  This is supposed to be one of those letters that you write to someone knowing that you'll never actually give it to them. The reason I'm starting this letter that way is so that I'll be completely honest, get all my feelings down on paper, and then maybe I'll burn it or throw it away.

  But I’m already pretty honest with you, don't you think?

 
; Well, here's some more honesty.

  I meant everything that I said to you the night I told you that I still cared about you, that I didn't want to let go, that I wasn't going to go away that easily. I made up my mind –my heart—that night to fight for you, to stick it out as long as it was what we both wanted, no matter how long that might take. But that night I still felt like you cared about me. I still care about you more than you know, but lately I feel like you're pulling away from me. And I can't fight this battle on my own, Mike. I need to know that you're on my side. I realize you have other things you're dealing with right now, but why do you have to handle it all alone? Why can't you let me be there for you?

  Now, I'm going to be completely honest. I want to keep holding on, but I need more from you. Can't you see that holding on like this is killing me? I don't know if it just seems like it isn't as hard on you, or if it really isn't, but it really is hard on me. I don't like having to sneak around, but I am willing to do it if that's what it takes to be with you. Honestly, I hate that I am willing, but I am. I can't help it. I just can't seem to walk away from you, no matter how hard I try. I also hate to tell you that, but...

  I have asked you at least a dozen times if you want me to let go. You give me mixed signals. Don't get me wrong, if you felt good about cheating, that would definitely be a problem, but...

  I guess that’s the problem. You see it as cheating, I just see it as being with you part-time.

  I don't want to do it anymore. Not like this. I would do anything for you—including letting you go, if that was what you wanted. I've asked you over and over again, and you won't come right out and say it, but you insinuate that you don't want me to let go, then when I push you to clarify, you tell me you give me "clear enough" answers. Well, my interpretation is that you don't want me to let go. If you do, please don't think you're being kind by lying to me. You're not. If you want me to let go, then let me go. I will go away just like that, Mike, all you have to do is tell me to. It will hurt, I won't want to, but I will. Eventually I'm sure I'll even get over it.