by Jean Haus
She’d be shocked if she knew what I’d actually given up. And probably super pissed I didn’t tell her about Romeo and me. Not that it is any of her business.
Kendra taps the side of her plate with her fork. “Huh, on second thought, maybe I could give up visions of Romeo for my mother. Mothers are the best, you know?”
I nod slowly as a revelation hits me upside my dense head. I’ve been immaturely looking at the world in black and white. Kendra’s a selfish beauty queen. Romeo’s a player. I’m a band geek. Justin’s a manwhore. Except for the last one—Justin is a manwhore—I’ve been proved wrong on all counts. People are layers of personality and their pasts, but I’ve been two-toned blind and judgmental. Damn, I need to grow up.
Kendra’s pink lips pensively turn down. “So not having a drummer, they must have canceled.” The look on my face has her adding, “Hey, you had to do what you had to do right?”
“Yeah,” I say, but that twinge of guilt grows.
Kendra starts talking about some guy from her Spanish class. I listen with half an ear as my guilt settles deeper. By the time, I’m walking to Calculus, I feel horrible. Romeo puts so much time into getting gigs. It’s not like we live in some huge metropolis. Perhaps I should have given the band two weeks or something to find a new drummer. I just lost it after my mother’s drinking binge. Even in the throes of depression, her behavior was extremely out of behavior.
Last week I purposely came late to Calculus. I can almost keep him from my mind, but seeing Romeo brings on a wistfulness that twists my gut and makes me question my decision. He nodded at me when I came in then made small talk at break. Nothing serious just a generic hello and how are you stuff. My response was just as generic. After we shared such a deep connection, our impersonal exchange tore at my insides, which was a selfish reaction. I’m the one who demanded the distance between us.
Today I’m early as usual. I wait with my books and calculator in front of me. The guilt eating at me goes into overdrive when Romeo strolls in the room.
He’s dressed in a dark brown hoodie that matches his eyes. My gaze devours him. His doesn’t glance my way. He sits and tugs his books from his bag. Flips through his notebook while my pencil taps out a nervous beat. The beat, not me, catches his attention. He stares at my tapping eraser before his eyes shift to mine in a look that asks, please stop that racket. But other than that his gaze is empty.
“Sorry,” I say, cringing and setting down my pencil.
“Doing okay?” he asks and opens his textbook.
“I’m alright.” I resist the urge to tap my fingers. “Um…I heard you canceled your gig this weekend.”
He keeps turning pages but says, “Yup.”
“I feel really bad about that. I could…well I’d be willing to play just this weekend if you need me.”
He slowly turns to me. His dark eyes look empty. “Thanks, but it can’t be uncanceled. Don’t worry though. It’s like I told you, I’m aware the band doesn’t trump people’s lives.”
“Ah, okay. Have you found a drummer?”
He nods then turns back to pushing textbook pages.
I can’t stop myself from asking, “Who?”
“The guy I wanted from the start.”
Pain rips through me. I try to blink away the sting of his words. I’m not sure if he purposely wanted to hurt me. I can’t read him when he’s hunched over a textbook, but it pretty much sounded like he was saying hiring me was a mistake.
Maybe it was.
But I can read between the lines. The bigger mistake was us.
I push my chair back. It clanks against the table behind us when I stand. I ignore it and the students looking at me. The professor walks in as I race out. Inside a bathroom stall, I breathe deeply and fight the well of tears threatening to break loose. I’ve already done this. I do not want to do it here. I will not do it here.
I’m almost calm when I hear the creak of the door.
“Riley?” Romeo’s deep voice asks.
Shit.
“Are you alright?”
Fighting a new sob, I resist answering. His worrisome tone hurts almost as much as his words. The pain of our breakup is somehow caught in my throat.
“I know you’re in here.” His voice echoes in the empty bathroom. “I saw you come in.”
I breathe through my nose.
“I’m coming in if you don’t answer.”
“Just go away, Romeo,” I say from behind clenched teeth.
“I didn’t mean what you think.”
“Just go away!”
“Riley…”
“Please!”
I hear a sigh then the door shutting. I let out a whoosh of air and bang my head against the metal wall before sliding the stall lock open. I’m leaning against the sink, clenching the counter, and trying to compose myself when another girl comes in. Her glance at me is dismissive. She goes to the mirror and adjusts her hair before opening a tube of lip gloss. I wash my hands for something to do then take a deep breath and yank open the door.
I almost run into Romeo coming out of the restroom.
“Whoa,” he says, catching me by the shoulders.
“Let me go.”
“Just give me a minute.” His hands tighten on my shoulders as the stares down at me. His dark eyes are full of remorse. “You were the right choice and I’ll always be grateful I had the opportunity to play with someone so talented.” He takes a deep breath. “And I wouldn’t trade any hurt for the time we had together. I—”
“Don’t,” I say, shaking my head as I pull out of his grasp. “Don’t say anything else.”
His arms drop.
The girl from the bathroom comes out. “Oh good, you’re still here,” she says to Romeo.
I spin around and head back to Calculus. Romeo mutters something. The girl’s high-pitched laughter rings down the hallway. I shudder before I open the door. Only three more classes and then I’ll be free from this agony.
Chapter 30
Over the last eleven months, I’ve eaten in almost every causal restaurant in the tri-city area. It’s as if my father thinks a change in décor and menu will make everything okay. Tonight it’s Mexican. And the usual group—my father, his girlfriend, Jamie, and me—sit around the table with the exception of Chloe. I figure if my dad can bring Sara, I can bring Chloe. I need the support or maybe it’s the buffer.
Jamie and my father leaf through a new book—a Waldo one this time. Sara has gotten into the habit of bringing her a book each Tuesday.
Chloe swirls the straw in her glass of Coke and asks Sara, “So you’re a lawyer?”
Sara nods. “I work for an environmental agency.”
“So how did you meet Mr. Middleton?”
I tap Chloe’s leg with my boot. Like I want to know this stuff. They must have met when my parents were still together. Chloe ignores me.
Sara takes a sip of her wine and glances at my father as if asking his permission to share. The idiot just smiles. Sara turns to Chloe and me. “My firm sometimes hires people in his engineering firm for research. I’ve known him for several years through work.”
I choke on ice tea.
Chloe’s eyes round. “You guys have been dating for two years?”
“No.” Sara shakes her head and glances at me. “We didn’t start dating until January.”
When he moved out. Yet, the thought of them working together, giving each other looks, and attraction growing between them for two years has my stomach turning.
Chloe keeps talking with Sara while my father and Jamie look for Waldo. Our food comes. I pick at nachos. My dad asks me about school. I give him basic answers. He doesn’t ask about the band. I never told him I was in one. Sara asks me about my major and future plans. I mumble something about still considering my major. This is usually how these dinners go. Tense and slow. But Chloe’s soon talking Sara’s ear off again, and I’m left alone picking at cheese, meat, and beans. I shove my plate away when Sara describes the house m
y father and her are buying.
Chloe follows me to the bathroom. At the sink, she says, “I’m not sure what your problem is. Sara seems pretty nice, especially to Jamie. If anything, I’d think you’d find her attitude with Jamie to be the cat’s ass.”
I snatch a paper towel from the dispenser. “Oh, I don’t know,” I say sarcastically. “Maybe because she’s not my mother.”
Chloe opens up a tube of red lipstick. “Fail. It’s not her fault your parents are getting a divorce.”
“He wants to start a family with her.”
The tube pauses above her lips. “Okay, that’s not the easiest issue to deal with, but what are you going to do? Be a bitch forever? Make this harder on Jamie? Are you going to hate a new brother or sister?”
I whip the paper into the trash. “It just feels like I’m betraying my mother.”
Chloe shrugs and closes her lipstick. “I can see that. Yet being persistently rude to the Sara doesn’t equate to sticking up for your mother. And it sure as hell isn’t going to change anything.”
“You’re right,” I concede.
When we go back out, I try to keep the sullen look from my face and even join in on the conversation a bit. This woman will soon be my stepmother. And though I’m not looking forward to that day, I’m thinking Chloe’s right. Acting like a brat isn’t going to change anything, only make the transition harder for everyone because by that time my father will have partial custody of Jamie, which essentially means Sara will be her part time mother.
Divorce really does suck.
***
My father hangs his coat on the hook on the wall near the booth before sliding in across from me. “Your call and invitation to lunch was a nice surprise.”
For most of my life, I was equally in awe of both of my parents. Both were slightly stern, but they always had time for me whether it was coming to watch me play in the marching band, movie nights, or the board games I loved as a kid. However, my father didn’t just break my mother’s heart almost a year ago, he broke mine too by destroying our family.
I glance around the diner. “This isn’t going to be a friendly lunch.”
He raises a brow at me.
“I wanted to talk about a few things since you and mom can’t seem to communicate.”
“Riley—”
“Just let me say what I need to okay?”
He nods as the waitress comes up.
After we order our drinks, I take a deep breath and start. “I’ve been upset at you since you left, and I’m still upset. I’ll probably be pissed for a while that you destroyed our family.” He raises another brow, probably at my language, but I don’t care. This has to come out and it is coming out honestly. “But Chloe helped me realize my anger isn’t helping Jamie, me, or even mom. More importantly, Jamie needs to be with you more than six hours a week.”
My father’s fingers drum on the table. “Until the divorce is finalized that’s all you mother will allow.”
“I know but Sara said you were buying a house and maybe if you explained Jamie would have her own room, mom will cave. But you need to talk with her. Maybe apologize.”
“Apologize?”
“Yeah, apologize. You left her. Did you ever tell her you were sorry things didn’t work out after twenty one years of marriage?”
“All of those things were said before I left.”
“Maybe you need to say them again.”
The waitress sets our drinks down, coffee for him and water for me. She asks if we’re ready to order. We both say no at the same time. My dad stares at me as she leaves.
“Listen, I may be pissed at you, but I called. I’m going to try not being such a bitch to your girlfriend. It’s hard to like her because of mom, but I’m willing to try. Why? Because in the long run my behavior is just going to hurt people, especially Jamie. I don’t want my attitude to rub off on her. If I can swallow my anger and pride, why can’t you kiss your soon to be ex-wife’s ass so you can spend more time with your daughter?”
His expression turns angry. “What is with your disrespectful mouth?”
“Sorry, I’m a little emotional. I’ll try to tone it down. Please answer the question.”
He runs a hand across his face. “You’re right. If I can spend more time with Jamie and you, me being contrite and pleading with your mother should be feasible.”
“Just try for Friday after school through Sunday morning. And you need to be very, very contrite.”
His mouth turns down in confusion.
I nod at the huge window and outside where my mother is walking in from the parking lot, slide out of the booth, and grab my coat from a hook. “Here she comes.” Walking away from my father’s wide eyed look, I meet my mother just as she enters the diner.
“Did you get a table yet?” she asks.
“Um, yeah.” I gesture to the booth at the end of the line. “Dad’s here.”
Her skin whitens when her eyes find the back of his head.
“He wants to talk,” I say in a reassuring tone.
“Riley—”
“You need to talk with him. You’re both still our parents.”
Shaking her head, she steps back.
I reach for her arm. “Mom, do this for Jamie. For me. For you.” She looks at me with petrified eyes. I feel like a manipulative asshole, but I press. I’ve become persistence with her. “It’s just talking. You can do this. You’re strong enough to do this.”
She gives me a nasty look, but takes a deep breath and moves past me. I watch her slowly hang her coat next to his and then sit. Her face is tight, her eyes hostile. I push out the door and go to my car, but I don’t leave rather watch them while my car warms up. My father’s talking. My mother’s crying. She tears at the napkin bin near the inside end of the booth.
Feeling like a jerk again, I sink down in my seat. This might have been too much for her.
Then my mother is talking and moving her hands. My father’s shoulders slump. His head is bowed. Her moving hands grip the edge of the table before she pushes away. My father grabs one of her hands, and though I can’t see his expression, his posture is repentant.
My mother slowly sits back across from him then they talk and nod and drink coffee. The guilt in my stomach slowly uncoils the longer they sit. When she stands and reaches for her coat, she lets him help her into it.
I shift my car into reverse as hope replaces my guilt.
Chapter 31
I’m at the kitchen island three days later vigorously studying for my Calculus exam when my mother comes through the door. She’s talking on the phone. She’s hardly spoke to me since the meeting with my father. Obviously, she’s angry at me for setting her up. I’ve chosen to remain patient and wait until she’s ready to express her irritation. Though I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.
Cradling her phone to her ear, she steps in between the island and cupboards. “That’s sounds workable. I’ll call you closer to Christmas. Okay. Yes. Good bye.”
Though I’m very interested in whom she is talking to, I continue to crunch numbers.
“That was your father.” She drops her phone on the counter.
“Oh.” I pretend nonchalance and punch at my calculator.
“We’ve come to another tentative agreement until the divorce is finalized in February.” Her clipped tone clues me into how stressful talking about the divorce is for her. I remind myself that stress is better than giving up. I set my calculator down and give her my full attention.
“After the new year, he’ll pick up Jamie from school on Fridays and drop her off Sunday mornings. I’m hoping you’ll go there too and at least spend Friday night in the beginning.”
“You’ll be okay alone?” I ask and try to keep elation from my expression. Too much happiness at her finally giving in might freak her out.
She grips the counter. “I’d like Jamie to transition into this smoothly. He wants both of you to spend the twenty third and part of Christmas Eve at his house.
I agreed.”
I nod and continue to keep a straight face, but inside I’m ecstatic. They are working things out. Well as much as things can be worked out at this point.
Her expression tightens as she leans over the counter. “Riley, I get why you did it, but don’t ever do something like that to me again.”
“Alright,” I simply say. We could argue but there’s no point to it. She’s doing the right thing and that was my purpose. Plus she’s facing her predicament. That more than anything has me thrilled.
She lets out a sigh and looks at my mess sprawled across the island. “You have exams tomorrow?”
“Two,” I say, reaching for my calculator. Philosophy should be an easy A, but I need to get at least an eighty percent to maintain a B in Calculus.
“Then I’ll cook dinner later.”
As she moves toward the laundry room, I can’t help a grin. Not because I don’t want to cook dinner, but because every day I see a little more of my mother coming back. It’s been about one month since the wine episode. She’s not her former self—she may never be—but she’s doing more and getting better. Like Romeo, little bit by little bit she’s starting to live again.
***
For the last two classes, Romeo and I have restricted our communication to simple hellos and nods. We proved a couple weeks ago that generic conversation was beyond us. I refrain from looking at him as much as possible and try to keep him from my thoughts. When he enters them, the almost healed scab of us on my heart rips open anew, leaving me on the bench in the skate park again. I’m looking forward to only running into him randomly at campus after today. I expect our paths will rarely cross. And sadly, I’m relieved by that future of us.
The exam keeps my mind from wandering, for the most part. Romeo moving or clearing his throat or tapping his pencil in thought pulls me back to him. I can finally, thankfully concentrate when he hands in his test. The rest of the test takes me about another forty-five minutes to finish then review. Confident about at least an eighty percent, I hand it in and leave the class for the last time. The thought makes me gleeful. Various reasons have me despising Calculus III.
