Desperate Chances

by A. Meredith Walters

Crap. Way to step in it, Gracie! “She’s not moving for a few weeks,” I explained.

  Mom smiled triumphantly and I knew what was coming. I braced myself for it.

  “Well, that makes your decision to move back home much easier. If Vivian’s moving out, there’s no reason for you to stay in that cramped shoe box you call an apartment.”

  “I like my apartment, Mom. And with my new job I can easily afford the rent on my own,” I said tiredly. I was already exhausted and I had just gotten there. It wasn’t a good indication of how the evening was going to pan out.

  “Why waste your money on your own place when you have a beautiful room just upstairs. You wouldn’t have to pay for anything,” Mom protested. She took me by the elbow and steered me towards the stairs. “Go up and have a look at what my decorator did with the space. I’ll be up in a minute. I just need to check on the casserole.”

  Ugh. Casserole. My mother loved making them and I hated eating them. They tasted like bitterness and resentment.

  But I did as she asked.

  I climbed the stairs opened the door to the room I had grown up in. As I had suspected, all remnants of my childhood were gone. Gone. Except for the small brown teddy bear I had slept with as an infant. Mr. Itchy—strange name, I know—sat in the middle of my queen sized bed that was no longer covered in pink and black checks, but now sported a very classy green and white stripped duvet.

  The walls had been painted cream and the large picture window was dressed in heavy green damask. My mother had even gone so far as to replace my old vanity with an antique table and cushioned bench. A brand new laptop sat on top.

  I sighed heavily, walking further into the room. Mom’s decorator had done a great job. If it had been a hotel. Because it felt sterile. Cold.

  Sort of like my relationship with my parents.

  There was nothing in the space that screamed Gracie Cook. But I knew that my mother would expect me to be pleased with the transformation. She loved it, so of course I should too.

  “What do you think?” My mom stood in the doorway and inspected her handy work. She pointed at the window. “The material for the curtains was very expensive. But I think it turned on wonderfully.”

  “Where are my books? My posters?” I asked.

  My mother didn’t answer me. “The layout is more appropriate for a woman of your age. More mature. Don’t you love the art?” My mom pointed to a large print above the bed. It was done in soft pastels that resembled trees blowing in the wind. “That one was very pricey, but when I saw it at the art auction, I thought it would look perfect in here. It’s called The Storm and it’s signed by the artist.”

  “Very nice, Mom,” I said with little enthusiasm. “You’ve made a great guest room,” I added, ready for the battle to begin.

  Mom’s mouth thinned into a straight line. “Don’t start this nonsense again, Grace.”

  I hated how she insisted on calling me Grace.

  Everyone else had always called me Gracie. My grandmother—the one who had pinched Mitch’s ass—had given me the nickname and it had stuck. No one else ever called me Grace. Not even my dad. But my mother refused to call me anything else.

  It was a total power play. It was Mom’s way of saying, “I don’t care what you want to be called. This is the name I gave you.”

  “I like my apartment—”

  “You’re a sick, sick woman, Grace Evelyn. You need to be where I can take care of you. Where I can make sure you’re all right.”

  I looked at my mother and her stern, yet beautiful face and I saw something I had never noticed before.

  Fear.

  Underneath the selfishness and the shallow obsession with appearance, was a woman with genuine concern for her daughter. Even if she couldn’t express it in a manner that was supportive or kind. Or conducive to healthy relationships.

  I put my hand on my mom’s sleeve. We weren’t a touchy feely bunch so the action surprised both of us.

  “Mom, I’m doing okay. Just because I live on my own doesn’t mean that I’m going to fall off the wagon. Or stop eating and waste away. I’m working hard to build a life. And I think I’m doing a pretty good job.”

  My mom stared at me for a long time.

  I wasn’t sure what she saw when she looked at me. I hoped she could see that I was at least telling her the truth. That I was capable of making my own decisions, and not fall on my face in the process.

  She sniffed, her lip curling in disdain. “Is that what you call drinking yourself into a coma? Building a life?” She stepped away from me, my hand falling to my side. “Now have a look at this wardrobe. I picked it out myself. It looks small but once you open it, you will see it holds all of your clothes. And there’s even a shelf for your shoes.”

  I watched her walk around the room, pointing out all the new features and I knew that she’d never hear me. She would never recognize me for anything but a disappointment. I was the daughter that she needed to take care of. Even if I had never asked her to.

  It made me sad.

  I loved my mother. I really did. But I didn’t necessarily like her.

  I heard the front door open and shut, followed by the sound of my father banging snow off his shoes.

  “Where is everyone?” he called from the bottom of the stairs.

  “Come on. Let’s not keep your father waiting,” my mom said, snapping her fingers. I rolled my eyes and followed her out of the room. I closed the door, silently vowing to never step inside again.

  I discretely pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked my messages, hoping there was one from Mitch.

  Nothing.

  It hurt. A lot. Because I had seen the hair ties. I had found the pictures.

  I knew, without a doubt, that he still cared.

  So why wasn’t he calling me?

  I reached the bottom of the stairs and my father patted my shoulder. No hugs or kisses. It was just as well. It would have been beyond strange if he had done either.

  “The roads are getting slick. You’re not driving in that. Though I’m glad to see you finally got new tires for your car,” Dad said gruffly, walking into the dining room where my mom had his cocktail waiting for him.

  Living with my parents was like being stuck in a 50’s time warp. I at my usual spot at the dining table while Mom started bustling around, serving the food, filling plates, making sure glasses were topped up.

  This was my parents’ dynamic. Dad went to work and when he got home, Mom waited on him hand and foot. She seemed happy enough to do it, but the thought of sliding back into that mind numbing routine was enough to make me want to scream.

  “Yes, Dad, I got new tires last week,” I replied sharply, waiting for the judgment. Expecting it. So, I was surprised when I didn’t get any.

  “That’s very responsible of you, Gracie,” he said gruffly, sipping on his gin and tonic. I supposed that’s where I developed my love for that particular cocktail.

  “This doesn’t taste right, Sarah,” my father remarked, holding up his drink.

  Mom glanced in my direction. “That’s because it doesn’t have gin in it, darling. It’s lime and soda. Grace is here, after all. We can’t have the alcohol out.”

  I snorted and both of my parents turned to me with narrowed eyes.

  “You don’t have to hide the booze when I’m here, Mom. I won’t reach across the table and guzzle it. Dad can have a G&T. It’s not a big deal.”

  “You’re a recovering alcoholic, Gracie. Your mother is just trying to be sensitive,” Dad admonished, always defending her. Even when she was a raging bitch, my dad had her back. I guessed there was something sort of lovely about that.

  “Which reminds me, the new locked liquor cabinet should be arriving next week,” my mother said as she put the steaming casserole down in front of my dad.

  Locked liquor cabinet? Seriously?

  “I just don’t want you to feel tempted once you move home,” Mom added.

  That was it.

  I
couldn’t take it any more.

  I was at the end of my very short rope.

  “I’m not moving home, Mom. It’s not happening. I’m quite happy in my apartment. I have a good job. I have a life.”

  Mom handed dad a basket of rolls. “So how was your day, Leonard?” she asked, completely ignoring me. My voice was never, ever heard in this house.

  Well, that was ending now.

  I stood up abruptly, my chair falling backwards, and hitting the hardwood floor with a loud clang.

  “Grace Evelyn, pick up that chair immediately and sit down like you have some sense,” my mother ordered.

  I picked up the chair, but I didn’t sit back down. “I can’t stay for dinner,” I said.

  My dad frowned, his face thunderous. “You’re being insolent, Gracie. Your mother worked hard on this dinner. Now you sit down and eat!”

  “No. I won’t. I’m leaving. I won’t sit at this table and allow you to treat me like I can’t think for myself.” Deep breaths. Stay calm. Don’t lose it now.

  “I’ve made mistakes. Who hasn’t? I’m sorry that I worried you. That I made you look bad in front of your friends, but I’m trying here. But I’m more than aware that no matter what I do, it’s not good enough for you. I’m a twenty-four year old woman with a good job and a place to call home. I pay my bills and I file my taxes. I have people in my life that love and respect me, and I feel pretty damn lucky. And I am not moving back here. So you don’t need a locked liquor cabinet, because I won’t be living under this roof.”

  I turned and left the dining room, my heart beating so hard and fast that I could barely hear anything else.

  I had stood up to my parents.

  Now I was walking out of their house.

  Without eating my mother’s casserole.

  She’d be holding a serious grudge over that one.

  “Gracie Evelyn Cook, don’t you dare step one foot outside this house!” my dad shouted. I pulled on my coat and grabbed my purse, but I hesitated.

  I didn’t want to upset my parents but there were limits to what I was willing to stomach. And I was way over my limit.

  My father stormed out into the foyer where I stood with my purse and car keys in hand. He glared down at me and I almost quivered under his cold, dark eyes. “You’ve upset your mother. That is unacceptable. You need to go back in there this instant and apologize.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t, Dad. I can’t stay here and pretend that I agree with your ideas for my life. I won’t sleep in that bedroom and I won’t let either of you dictate my life. I love you, but that doesn’t mean you can control what I do. I’m an adult. I have been for a while now, whether you choose to believe that or not.”

  My dad’s face softened for just a moment and what he said next shocked me.

  “Seeing you in that hospital bed frightened us so badly. I don’t think you will ever understand, until you have children of your own, what it feels like to stand by and not be able to do anything while your child is hurting. You want to swoop in and take care of everything.” My dad rubbed his hand through his graying hair. He looked tired. And old. I hadn’t realized that until then how much my father had aged.

  “We just want you to be happy,” he finished, his mouth setting into a firm line again. “But you are not allowed to come into our house and disrespect us like that. It won’t be tolerated.”

  My shoulders sagged in shame. “I’m sorry, Dad.” And I was. I didn’t want to hurt either of them, but it also felt really good to stand up for myself.

  “Go say goodbye to your mother if you don’t want to stay for dinner. She’ll be mess otherwise. Then if you want to leave, I’ll drive you home. The roads are a mess and I won’t have you risking your life to make a point,” Dad said gruffly.

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  I followed him back into the dining room where my mother was still sitting, her back straight as a board.

  “Mom, I’m sorry if I upset you.” She didn’t acknowledge me. She continued to pick at her casserole as though I weren’t there.

  I walked around the table and kissed her cheek. Not an air kiss. A real kiss. “I love you, Mom. I really do,” I said softly, my hand on her shoulder.

  She reached up and put her hand on top of mine briefly before continuing to eat her dinner. “Your father will drive you home. I don’t want to worry about you on those roads in this weather.”

  “Okay, Mom. Thank you.”

  And that was it.

  It wasn’t much, but it was something. I had learned to celebrate the small successes. They were often the most important ones.

  “My dad brought me back to the apartment. The roads are getting really bad out there. I’m sorry that I couldn’t make it over to your place,” I told Vivian once I had gotten home.

  Dad had said very little to me on the drive back to my apartment. But when he pulled up out front, he reached over and squeezed my hand. “Come over next week for dinner, okay?”

  I nodded. “Sure, Dad, I’d like that.”

  I got out of his car and watched him drive slowly away, the snow falling heavily from the sky.

  “That’s okay. Cole hasn’t even gotten back from Garrett’s yet. The must be still on their call with the label. I don’t know when they’ll be finished. Maysie was going to come over, but with the snow, she’s decided to stay home too. So it’s just me and a bag of Cheetos that are looking way too tempting,” Vivian said.

  “Oh man, I almost forgot about the call. But I thought it was supposed to be this afternoon.” I opened the microwave and put in a packet of popcorn. I was hungry, especially since I hadn’t eaten dinner. Popcorn and soda would have to do.

  “It was pushed back to five o’clock. The big wigs had another meeting that ran over. The guys really just want the whole thing done with already. It’s been dragging on long enough. Cole was on the phone with Neal earlier today. They were discussing some possible solo gigs,” Vivian revealed.

  “Solo gigs? Really?” Cole going solo had been the source of a lot of hostility last year when the band was just starting to get big. I was surprised that he’d even consider it.

  “Well, things are different this time, aren’t they? With Maysie being pregnant—”

  “You know too?” I shrieked.

  “Of course I do. Do you actually think there’s a secret that I don’t know?” Vivian remarked flippantly. “Anyway, Cole knows Jordan won’t go back on the road, and Garrett seems ready to settle down with Riley. The band is already fracturing. Generation Rejects has run its course, it would seem. And all Cole has ever wanted to do, is be on stage.”

  “How do you feel about that? Him possibly going back out on the road?” I asked her, taking the popcorn out of the microwave and dumping it in a bowl.

  “My man belongs on a stage. And between you and me, I like knowing other women want him, but can’t have him. It’s a hell of a turn on,” Vivian giggled.

  “I would never have guessed that,” I said blandly.

  “Cole Brandt is a star. But that star belongs to me. He knows it, and that’s all I really care about.”

  I could hear a voice in the background. “Hey, G, Cole just got here. I’d better go. We won’t be coming back there tonight. We want to spend the night here. So I’ll see you tomorrow once the roads are clear. Bye, babe. Call me if you need me,” Vivian chirped into the phone.

  “Okay, tell Cole I said hey.”

  “I will. And I’ll let you know, once I talk to Cole, how things went with their phone call,” she promised.

  “Sounds good. I definitely want to know,” I told her.

  “All right. Later, girlie.” She hung up and I dropped my phone onto the table. I grabbed my bowl of popcorn and headed into the living room.

  I turned on the TV, excited when an old episode of The Fresh Prince came on.

  “In west Philadelphia, born and raised…” I started to sing.

  I could hear Mitch in my mind singing along with me.

>   Mitch.

  Why hadn’t he called or messaged me. I wondered if he had found the note and was simply ignoring me.

  More importantly, I wondered how the dissolution of his band would affect him. I worried about how he was feeling. And really, I just wanted to talk to him.

  But I had left the ball in his court.

  There would be no pathetic phone calls from this chick.

  Nope. If he wanted to talk to me, he knew where I was.

  Yep.

  That sounded good.

  So I pulled my knees up to my chest and watched television. I laughed when Alfonso Ribeirio did the Carleton. I ate my popcorn and I tried to not think about how much I wanted Mitch beside me.

  But when I fell asleep, it was with his name on my lips.

  Because, for once, there was no doubt. Not anymore.

  I knew what I wanted. I just hoped, for once, I got it.

  Earlier that day

  I woke up for the first time in a long time feeling like things were going to be okay.

  Which was fucking crazy considering the phone call with Pirate was later today. That meant the official end of Generation Rejects in its current incarnation.

  I was sad for the band to be over, but at the same time I was ready for whatever came next. Even though I didn’t know exactly what that was.

  I got up at seven. I hadn’t been up that early since I was a kid and hadn’t ye discovered how awesome sleeping in was.

  I showered and dressed, checking my phone for messages. Garrett had left me one a few hours ago saying that his flight came in around seven-thirty.

  I thought about calling Gracie. There was so much I wanted to say to her.

  We had a lot to sort out and it was way past due.

  After leaving Jordan’s last night I had driven to Sophie’s house. She had met me outside, per usual.

  “You ready to go?” she asked, heading towards my passenger side door.

  “Uh, can we go inside for a minute?” I asked her, cutting off the Jeep’s engine.

  Sophie looked surprised. “Why?” she asked.

  “Because I need to talk to you, and it’s cold as a witch’s tit out here,” I had said testily. What was her big deal about letting me inside? It was weird.