His perspective felt distorted, reflected in a fun house mirror where he couldn’t find his way out without her. He hadn’t told her about his issues with his label or Simon’s increasing secrecy because he wanted to show her he could take care of them. She didn’t show any interest in the business, never asked questions or offered to help out, so he kept it to himself. He wanted to make her proud. It was humiliating for her to lose all her friends and see herself as tabloid fodder (“The Trappings of Celebrity: Teen Pregnancy”, “Teen Pregnancy: Trendy?”) and she deserved better—so much better. She was his moral compass and support system—the one he counted on to make him feel like he wasn’t a loser who knocked up his girlfriend and ruined their lives. That he wasn’t a bad guy. And she’d left him.
Chapter 14
After she’d hung every frame just so, stocked the fridge, cleaned the kitchen and bathroom, swept the deck and raked the sand on the beach, Jenna sat. She sank down into the couch, inert. Her body refused to obey her mind that was screaming at her to get up and keep moving. For a moment, she felt relief. Then, of their own volition, tears began to fall, glassing over her blue eyes, pooling on her cheeks, cascading down to her lap. She felt nothing. Nothing at all, except for the damp of the tears soaking through her pants to the skin underneath.
The one thing that propelled her was her sense of duty. She could feel a complete breakdown coming on and had one last thing to do for Felicity. She called Alex’s voicemail to tell him where Felicity was so he wouldn’t worry. She may not be speaking to him, but he was still entitled to know where his daughter was.
“Jenna?” He answered.
Crap! She thought, wishing she checked his schedule before calling.
“Hi,” she said, unsure where to go from there.
“I’m so glad you called.”
“I thought I’d get your voicemail.”
“Oh,” he said, frowning. “I know you’re mad, and you deserve to be. I just … miss you. You’re the only one for me. How do I make this right?”
How indeed? She did believe him, didn’t she? Yes, she knew he was telling the truth. That he didn’t have feelings for Airika. That she kissed him. But still … something niggled at her, making its way just under her skin.
“But you did sleep with her. And you dated her behind my back,” she said in a bitchier-than-intended tone.
“That was so long ago. And I never cheated on you.”
Technically, what he said was true. It didn’t stop the deceit from hurting, though. She felt like all her memories of them together were now spoiled, like rotten fruit.
“After everything we’ve been through. All the sacrifices and hard times—we can’t throw all that away for something so insignificant. Just when things are starting to go our way?” he said, voice wavering.
“Your way,” she corrected, suddenly seeing things crystal clear. “I made sacrifices while you pursued your career. I was the one sidelined because I gave up my body for our baby. I supported you when no one else did.”
He was stunned into silence.
“What have you ever sacrificed for me?” she asked, genuinely curious.
“I … ” he started.
“Nothing. And you know what? It’s my fault. I never asked you for anything.”
“Jenna, I’ve done nothing but love you. I’ve been honest and faithful to you. I had no idea you felt you sacrificed so much for me. But you’re right; you should have said something. I can’t read your mind,” he said, righteous anger piercing his normally calm demeanor.
She ignored it. “Well, I’m saying something now. I want you to get out of your record contract. Ever since you signed it, you’ve been different, distant.”
“What?”
“You heard me. If you want to make this relationship—and our family—work, then we need you home with us. We need to know we come first.”
“Jenna, you know I can’t do that.”
“You could if you wanted to badly enough. We don’t need the money. But if you won’t, then we don’t have anything else to talk about.”
“Please don’t trivialize my career. You know it’s not that simple. I only have a month left. Are you telling me you won’t wait one month?”
“I’m done waiting.”
“Fine. I guess there’s nothing I can do then.”
“I guess not,” she seethed.
“And I think I need to hang up before either of us says something we can’t take back.” With that, he hung up.
The silence felt heavy around her. Her hands shook with frustration, but she was torn because a part of her felt … what? Free. Shouldn’t she be sad? Shouldn’t she curse his name? Bitch to girlfriends about him? Weren’t there supposed to be pints of ice cream and chick flick marathons involved in this sort of thing? And then, that anvil teetering high above flattened her again.
It wasn’t him, it was her. Yes, Alex was her best friend in the way that he was her partner. They shared a life together, and a child, a bond like no other. But really, a girl’s true best friend was always another girl. It was like losing true North on a compass. Without her, everything else felt arbitrary.
It could be the girl she grew up with or the girl she met in college, or even the girl she met at work. It didn’t matter where she met her—what mattered was that she had someone to share her inner thoughts with. Someone to be trusted with her inner demons. Someone who could take those demons and tell her she was “absolutely right” and that whoever wronged her was “just jealous.” The girl best friend could be trusted with the kind of nitty-gritty talks she’d never share with her partner because she might hurt his feelings or he might take something out of context. Those sticky things that would flare up his insecurities made for easy, over-a-cup-of-coffee conversation with the girl best friend. That was what made her indispensable.
When teenage Jenna sunk to the bathroom floor with that wretched plus sign glaring up at her, telling her that life as she knew it was over, she called Airika. Airika sat with her, brought her food and magazines, painted her toenails, and told her it would all be okay. Jenna would have fallen apart left to her own devices. She probably would have walked straight over to the women’s clinic and had the abortion she’d been contemplating if it weren’t for Airika. She’d come bounding into Jenna’s room the day after they found out, thrusting a teddy bear out in front of her. It wore a onesie that said, “My mommy’s hotter than your mommy.” Inappropriate, yes, but thoughtful too. She’d gone on and on about how cute Jenna and Alex’s baby would be; and Jenna didn’t take that trip to the clinic. Part of her felt forever indebted to Airika. So how could she reconcile those memories with this new information?
Her girlfriend was supposed to be the one who got her through this type of situation. To tell her everything was going to be okay. That he’d been an asshole and needed to do some serious sucking up. That in the end it would all work out. That girl wasn’t supposed to be the reason for all of this! And, even worse than being the perpetrator was that she ripped her friendship out from under them both. Airika’s actions negated every one of those conversations. Every bit of affirmation, of shared experience, of soothing comfort and inside jokes were now tainted with lies. Did she ever care, or was she only my friend because my dad’s famous? Did she stand by me just to be near Alex? She felt lost in the sea of betrayal. The sense of loss was so overwhelming she couldn’t breathe. Literally, it took effort to breathe.
They kept that secret for nearly two decades and she’d never known. Jenna had never even suspected it. What else hadn’t she known? What secrets had she confided in this wolf-in-sheep’s season-appropriate clothing? Airika knew everything about Jenna. Had she been laughing at her all these years? Had Alex? Did they laugh about her together?
The questions flooded her overloaded brain and her pulse quickened with rage. She hurled a pillow from the couch across the room. It wasn’t enough. She grabbed her phone, inertly taunting her from the coffee table, and hucked it against the
wall. It shattered into tiny pieces, Swarovski crystals plinking all around the floor, reflecting bits of light like prisms. Her chest heaved in satisfaction at her own destruction. She knew, of course, that she would be the one to clean it up, but the pressure inside her head was too much. The failsafe valve was fit to burst, messes and all.
When she looked around, instead of mocking herself for losing control, or feeling bad about destroying her brand new one-of-a-kind phone, she found herself dazzled by the flickers of beautiful rainbow light reflected all around the room. The juxtaposition of the old quaint cabin peppered in blinged out shrapnel seemed absurdly amusing. She didn’t recognize that person who had time to apply multi-colored gemstones to a cell phone case, yet missed the fact that her best friend was harboring feelings for her husband for the last twenty years. A voice in her head told her to remember this moment—this anger—and to never let it happen again.
She ransacked the spare room looking for her old camera, having just destroyed her camera phone. It was an old Canon SLR that still had a roll of film in its back. Perfect. She set up the antique tripod she found in the corner of the room, set the timer, and glowered over her epiphany. There was a click, click, click followed by the sound of film being sucked back into itself.
She wanted to blow that image up in order to remember how badly she felt at this moment and to never ever let anyone make her feel like this again. Sadistic as it was, she found pleasure in the pain.
As she walked to the grocery store (the only place that still developed film in town) she felt an odd sense of self-satisfaction. Not ready to be fully articulated, it felt something like gumption. Being disconnected from the world seemed wildly underrated. No cell phone, no computer, no car, just herself. If she wanted to do something she wouldn’t talk to anyone, consult anyone, or ask for anyone’s help. She could just do it. How had it taken her thirty-four years to figure this out?
Later that night, glass of wine in hand, she ceremoniously mounted the poster size frame that would soon house her image of liberation. She envisioned herself looking calm, exuding intimidating confidence. Afraid of nothing. The good thing about hitting rock bottom was having so much less to fear. She couldn’t say she had nothing to fear—she was the mother of a teenage girl, after all—but the two people she’d counted on to be her anchors, her pylons of strength keeping her from sinking in a sea of worst-case scenarios, had simultaneously abandoned their posts. And yet she was still standing. Figuratively speaking, anyway.
Somewhere around the third (or maybe fourth) glass this newfound confidence morphed into something akin to self-pity. The victim came out again. She hated that girl for being so damn whiny and pathetic. But how am I not a victim? She sniveled.
Maybe she shouldn’t have finished that bottle off by herself. On a nearly empty stomach. This was why she busied herself with projects and shunned introspection. It was dangerous. And dizzying. Her cheeks were wet again too. The world spun so fast around her. She couldn’t keep up. And then she passed out.
Chapter 15
“Your homework tonight, and every night this week,” Felicity’s teacher, Ms. Joy, addressed the class of high achievers as they shifted impatiently in their seats, “is to write a short, one-page vignette on a family member. They can be about anything … classroom appropriate,” she clarified to the much too enthusiastic hands going up around the room. She paused for the collective groan of disapproval. “I want you to learn something. It’ll be fun. It can be historical or gossipy or even abstract, but it must be written by you, from their point of view. Now is the time to get the dirt you’ve been wanting to get on your parents and get school credit for doing it.”
As the bell rang, releasing their waning attention spans, Felicity slowly packed up her notebook. The class cleared out quickly. It was last period and everyone was in a hurry to get to practice, work, or just out of the classroom. “Is something wrong?” Ms. Joy leaned against a nearby desk, arms folded in watchful concern.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah … no … ” Felicity stared into her neatly packed book bag. “I was just wondering if it has to be about a family member. My parents are out of town so I’m staying with my grandparents … and they’re really busy. I think I could write a more interesting paper on a stranger or historical figure instead.”
Ms. Joy, accustomed to lying teens doling out outlandish excuses, teased out the line of truth. “Ask them. I’m sure they’d love to take the time to tell you stories. Grandparents live for that sort of thing. I think you’ll be surprised.” Felicity nodded.
“Okay, I’ll ask.”
“You have the second highest GPA in your class; I’m sure you can write an interesting paper on someone in your family. It doesn’t need to be scandalous, just interesting to you.” Ms. Joy tilted her head, eyebrows cocked in that pitying look teachers give students who put too high expectations on themselves. Felicity, on the other hand, didn’t appreciate being reminded that she was second to perfect miss Sadie. Dejected, she left the classroom and headed down the hall to her locker.
“Hey Trey,” she said.
“'Sup?” he said, tilting his chin up in lieu of a wave hello. “You wanna go to the beach? Bonfire party tonight.”
“Nah. I’ve got homework.” She closed her locker and pulled her long hair into a messy ponytail. He followed her down the hall toward the parking lot.
“Can you give me a ride home?”
His eyebrows raised and he put a hand to his chest. “Would your mother approve?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “She won’t know. I’m still staying with the grandparents.”
“Nice. Will Shawn be home?”
She turned and gave him her most exasperated look. The last thing she wanted to do right now was talk about her family or listen to another conversation about the merits of this condenser microphone or that preamp. But it sounded better than talking about her parents.
Thankfully Trey left the other day before her mother burst in so he missed her meltdown. Felicity gave him a brief rundown, leaving out the gorier details. She worried because her mom hadn’t checked in last night or the day before, and her dad was texting instead of calling, which was unusual on both sides. She still didn’t know what happened between them but whatever it was had been enough to make her grandparents speak in generic clichés like, “give it time” and “they’ll work it out” or the most annoying “these things have a way of working themselves out.” It was disturbing, to say the least.
She slung her leg over the seat of Trey’s dirt bike and unhooked the extra helmet. “Let’s go to the beach.”
His eyebrows shot up, but he nodded approval. “You said it.”
She grabbed hold of his waist as they sped off, her sun-streaked hair whipping wildly behind them.
Good girl. Over-achiever. Athlete. These were the words frequently used to describe her. Today, she felt like being someone else. Someone who, for once, didn’t do as she was told. Someone who went to parties and rode on the back of a motorcycle. Why shouldn’t she let loose a little? She wasn’t stupid enough to repeat her parents’ mistakes. She’d done well enough in biology to know the odds of getting knocked up when you were a virgin without a boyfriend.
Sex held no interest for her. Not really. She had better things to do than worry about whether or not some guy was going to call her when he said he would. Sure, no one had shown interest, but that was beside the point. Her best friend was a guy and she loved him, but she couldn’t imagine ever doing that with him. If she didn’t want to do it with her best friend, why would she want to do it at all? It was illogical.
They pulled off the road, parking near an unmarked dirt trail that led down a bluff to a semi-secluded beach. Wafts of smoke and the unmistakable smell of fire reminded Felicity of barbecues on the beach with her grandparents and, for a second, she wanted to turn around and go home. Then she saw Trey, his messy blonde hair bobbing along the trail behind her, laid
back as ever.
“What, you want to leave already?” He joked.
“Ha ha,” she said, mad that he knew her so well. “Just checking to see if you can keep up.”
“Oh-hoh! Game on,” he said, sprinting down the path in front of her, flip flops clacking loudly beneath his feet. She ran after him, slipping along the path. She caught up with him just as they reached the mouth of the trail and jumped up on his back. Galloping in on piggyback wasn’t exactly the entrance she’d imagined, but they certainly turned heads. There was some not-so-discreet whispering and then the obligatory teen head turn, as though nothing could be less cool than her existence.
“Wow, this sure looks fun,” she said.
“It’ll be fine. Look, isn’t that Rachel?” He pointed to a brunette on the volleyball court. Felicity waved.
“She’s coming over here. Be nice … ” Trey warned, playfully elbowing her. “I’m gonna get a beverage. You want one?”
She glared back at him.
“Hey Rachel.”
“What’s up, Felicity? I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Uh, because I never see you at parties. But hey, we could use a fourth for volleyball.”
“I’m in.”
Felicity suddenly felt happy she’d come. It was nothing to stress about. She thought parties were all about drinking and smoking pot and people hooking up. None of that appealed to her, but volleyball—that she could do.
Spiking, bumping, diving across the sandy court: no problem. Making small talk with cliquey prima donnas and hormone infested boys trying to prove their manhood: a pathetic waste of time.
She and Rachel were paired up against two sophomores Felicity recognized from the volleyball team, but with whom she’d never spoken. They looked a full head taller than she was, maybe 6 feet tall, with shoulders most guys would kill for. If Felicity were the type to back down from a challenge, she may have been tempted.
Rock My World Page 6
