by Jean Haus
I decide to head back to the main building instead of the parking lot. My Philosophy professor said he’d probably have the grades posted outside his office by the afternoon. I might as well check since I’m still here.
Though it hasn’t snowed—much to my sister’s dismay—yet, the air outside is frigid as I cross the commons. The cold temperature and wind has students crossing my path and moving quickly across the open space. I rush into the towered building that’s mostly professor’s offices and freeze in my tracks.
Romeo sits in a small seating area ahead of me. My world stops as he rubs his face with both hands. In between swipes, the scruff along his jawline is visible. His hair looks messy. His clothes wrinkled. Except for on stage, Romeo was never a slave to fashion, but he always looked well groomed and hot and a bit cocky. All of that is gone. The slump of his shoulders and his disarray paint another picture. A picture that hurts more than the girl sitting next to him with her hand on his slumped shoulder.
I’ve kept my gaze from him and now the sight of him so despondent has the broken pieces of my heart threatening to shatter.
Just as I’m turning around—the idea of seeing his eyes filled with pain has me desperate to flee—April looks up and her eyes narrow. I’m out in the frigid commons in seconds.
Unfortunately, as I get on the sidewalk leading to the parking lot, I hear, “Wait, Riley.”
I stop but don’t turn around. I’m surprised she remembered my name.
April steps in front of me. “Why are you doing this to him?”
Minutes ago, I’d hoped desperately at the awful sight of him that it wasn’t because of me. Now April’s demanding question has me feeling ill. “He told you about us?”
“Somewhat,” she says with a slight nod. “I guessed and he needed to open up, but he never said it was you. I just figured that out.” My staring at him like a deer in front of headlights must have given the who away. “What I can’t figure out is why someone wouldn’t want to be with him.” She rubs her arms covered in a thin sweater. She must have taken off after me without grabbing a coat.
“I’m not going to explain myself to you, April. I don’t even know you. But I will say I do want to be with Romeo. I just can’t.”
She watches me, probably trying to gage the pain that must be evident in my expression. The cold wind blows her long hair across her face as she leans closer to me and says lowly, “I don’t believe you.”
I rear back.
She flicks her curtain of hair back. “You know why?”
I don’t particularly care and I’m about to tell her off with a string of four letter words.
“If you truly wanted to be with him, you would make it happen.”
“Listen April—”
“No you listen, Riley. Half the girls on this campus are chasing after him, but he’s in love with you, and you’re throwing it away.”
I hold in a gasp. I’m assuming she’s assuming. I will not ask if he told her that, even if I want to, even if her words have my heart thudding like a drum. “Why are you telling me this shit?”
“Because I want to see him happy. And you’re obviously the one who can make him happy.”
My eyes bug out. Just lovely. This girl obviously deserves him. Not me. Why can’t Romeo love her? Why can’t Marcus love Chloe? Why can’t I love Marcus? Why is love such a cluster fuck?
She takes a step past me and says, “Just think about why you can’t real closely, Riley. You owe him that much.”
Refusing to cry, I stomp toward the parking lot. Every day is miserable without him. My heart is breaking too. Yet there’s not enough of it left to owe myself much less Romeo.
Chapter 32
My father’s new house is not as big as his old house. However, constructed earlier in the last century it has a different charm with the built in cabinets and window seats in almost every room. There are only three bedrooms. Jamie and I share one. Not a big deal since I probably won’t be here much. The other one is empty and I’m assuming will be a nursery, which is still very surreal.
We opened presents about an hour ago. Christmas music from a local radio station fills the background. Jamie and my father are currently in the living room working on some ridiculous Lego Café thing. My father always did like toys that allowed him to participate. I’m helping Sara in the tiny kitchen. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs in the air. I’m cutting celery and onions. She’s cooking French Toast for breakfast. Jamie wouldn’t let us eat before opening gifts. Or shower. We’re all still in pajamas.
I’ve kept my attitude in check. Both my father and Sara still irritate me, but I’m going to make this work for Jamie. And for my mom.
“The turkey will be done by three. You can stay for dinner right?” Sara asks.
I keep chopping. “Sure. We’ll just have to leave right after dinner. I…I don’t like my mother home by herself on holidays.” I’m not going to tip toe around my mother as if speaking about my father’s wife would be hurtful to his fiancée.
“Of course, your mother needs you right now.” Sara’s lips press together.
If we’re ever going to get along, I don’t want her to tip toe around me either. “Just say what you need to, Sara.”
She flips the bread on the griddle then rests her robed hip on the edge of the stove and faces me. “I’m very much in love with your father. My life has never felt so complete. Yet I’m aware your mother is hurting. I’m aware my joy is her pain. And…and that just makes me feel awful, which may sound patronizing in my position, but it’s the truth.”
I set the knife down slowly and rest my side on the counter so we face each other. I believe Sara doesn’t like hurting my mother. I also believe people make choices. Usually with only themselves in mind. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but do you believe love conquers all? Overrides everything else?”
Offence flashes in her eyes. Maybe there’s only one way to take my question in her situation. Her fingers trace a stove knob and the diamond on her engagement ring catches the light. “Every situation is different, Riley. Love doesn’t always make sense. To the person in it or to the people around them. The falling can be an emotional, chaotic whirlwind. The landing jarring and eye opening. But if two people are really in love, there’s nothing in this world that can overcome it. Even if they can’t be together, love doesn’t cease.”
Suddenly very angry—I’m interpreting her stupid love words to mean her and my father were in love before he left us—I force myself to murmur, “Um, okay.” Though I tried to keep it out, sarcasm laced my tone. Frustrated, I pick up the knife and start chopping again.
Sara doesn’t move. “Your father never asked me out until after he left your mother.”
He’d obviously been planning on hooking up with Sara, but I just nod and chop. Sara goes back to her griddle.
There’s no way around it. I’m always going to resent my father for leaving my mother. Perhaps if he had gone to marriage counseling or tried to rekindle their love then left, I wouldn’t be so resentful. Maybe not. It doesn’t really matter because I’ll never know.
I scrape up onions and celery with the knife then violently toss them in a bowl for the dressing. Sara raises her eyebrow at the smack of the knife against the bowl but doesn’t say anything.
The stupidest thing about the whole scenario is I’m the one sacrificing for my family while my father plays house with Sara. They’re all happy and in love while my heart is breaking.
My father comes in from the living room. He wraps his arms around Sara from behind and kisses the top of her head.
The embrace brings an urge to vomit.
“Breakfast almost ready?” he asks.
She puts down the spatula and reaches up, wrapping her hands around his neck.
I set the knife down with a clank. “Think I’ll go take a shower.”
Neither of them responds. My father just nuzzles Sara’s neck.
Barf. Barf. Barf.
Rushing
up the stairs, I sadly realize my mother and father never acted like that.
***
Two days after Christmas, Chloe shows up to check out my Christmas haul, as she has called it for the past four years. I usually get a ton of clothes for Christmas since my mother works at a department store. Though Chloe is far more curvy than me, she can fit into about half of my outfits. However, most of them are not her style. But she still likes to look.
She pops her head out of my small walk in closet. “There’s hardly anything new in here.”
I pull a poster from a box. My walls have been empty since May when I originally packed for college. “I told my mom not to worry about me and spend her money on Jamie.”
Chloe curls her bright red lips. “Why do you have to be such a lame ass martyr?”
I roll my eyes and push a two-step ladder against the wall. “There’s stuff in there with tags on it from last Christmas.”
“So?” she says, turning back into the overstuffed closet. “A girl can never have too many options, at least when it comes to clothes.”
I unroll a Led Zeppelin poster while the sound of hangers being pushed echoes from the closet. Zeppelin’s drummer John Bonham has been my number one idol since my father introduced me to the band in seventh grade. I’m tacking the psychedelic print back on my wall when Chloe comes out of the closet holding a shimmery, black dress that has the tag on it. I think the designer label priced under ten dollars wooed my mother into that purchase. Not the idea her daughter would actually wear it.
She presses the black silk against her body. “Lame?”
“No. You’d look great in it.” I turn back to the poster and push a tack in. “I’d just never expect you to pick it.”
“I’m thinking New Year’s Eve.”
I pause pushing the tack in. She broke it off with way too older man over three weeks ago. “Where are you going? And who are you planning on getting all worked up with that dress?”
“Marcus.”
I glance over my shoulder. “How?”
She clutches the dress tightly to her chest. “He called me last night.”
“Get out!” Swinging around, I about fall off the ladder.
She shakes her head. “It’s official. We’re going on a date.”
“Now that is the cat’s ass.” I’m off the ladder—safely—in two seconds then hugging her. We pull apart and bounce across from each other in circles like idiots. “You’re going out with Marcus! On New Year’s Eve!”
“I know! I know! I know!”
“This is fan-fucking-tastic.” I suddenly stop. “Why didn’t you tell me right away?”
She draws in a deep breath while her eyes find the floor. “I don’t know. I just…you and Romeo…and well I didn’t want to make you feel bad.”
“Oh Chloe, I already feel like shit twenty four seven, but why would you going on a date with Marcus upset me?”
Lipstick smears her front teeth as she gnaws her lip.
Suddenly, it makes sense. “You’re going to see Luminescent Juliet.”
Her eyes grow sad as she nods.
She’s right. The news has me feeling like shit. Drumming and Romeo are two of the things I like best in this world. “Well, that should be fun,” I force myself to say nonchalantly while reaching for another poster. “Where are they playing?”
“The Razor.”
“Huh? The club’s doing an eighteen and older for New Years?”
Biting her lip again, she shakes her head.
Sighing, I unroll a Blink 182 poster. Their drummer, Travis Barker, is another of my idols. “Justin’s getting you in.”
She nods slowly. “I’m sorry, Riley. If it had been anyone but Marcus, I would have said no.”
I push the ladder over. “It’s alright. I’m happy for you. And if you and Marcus work out, it won’t be weird with him anymore.” I push a tack in. “There’s that right?”
I haven’t talked to Marcus since I asked him to pick up his kit for me. Realizing me and Romeo were done, he started in on his stupid crush shit again. Feeling like a skipping record, I once again pushed him to examine his feelings for Chloe. I never thought he’d take me serious.
She comes over and looks up at me. “Why don’t you come with us?”
I imagine hanging out with the band and almost shudder at the thought of being around Romeo for an entire evening. “I don’t think so.”
She leans her face against the wall. “Why are you doing this to yourself? You’re crazy about him. He’s crazy about you. Why do you both have to be miserable?”
“I already explained why,” I say lowly. “Besides how do you know he’s miserable?”
“Marcus said it’s pretty obvious.”
My heart lurches. If it’s obvious to clueless Marcus, then it’s bad. My chest tightens. Hopefully not as bad as what I witnessed the day of exams.
“I get why you don’t think you can date him, but then I don’t.”
“Just drop it, Chloe,” I say in a warning tone. I’m reminded of Romeo all the time lately, while I’m supposed to be getting over him.
She lets out a huff. “Okay, I just wish you were as happy as me right now, but then who knows how things will turn out. Marcus and I plan on taking this slow, you know?”
“Ha,” I say, jumping off the ladder. “Marcus has let his guard down. One date with his eyes wide open and he’s going to be in so deep he won’t know what hit him.”
Her heavily lashed eyes grow round. “You think?”
“What man can resist Chloe the Testosterone Conqueror? Especially in that dress,” I say, gesturing to the black silk she’s still holding.
Chloe looks down at the dress then grins at me. “You’re right.”
I grin back but inside I’m breaking.
Chapter 33
I decided to go to the New Year’s Eve show. By myself. I didn’t want anyone to know, but I wanted to see Luminescent Juliet, and of course Romeo. The show already started by the time I enter the club. The walk in was freezing since I’m dressed in one of my band outfits. Shorts, a tank top, combat boots, and a velvet hoodie. I lied to the bouncer at the door and told him I was playing a set tonight with the band. Luckily, he remembered me from the last time we played and didn’t even bat an eye.
Keeping my emotions in a tightly packed coil, I pull my hoodie up over my ponytail and move to the far corner of the club while Justin sings, “This is the dawning of the rest of our lives…” People jumping to the beat of Green Day’s Holiday pack the dance floor wall to wall. The tables near the floor are packed too. Near the back, tables are sporadically filled because most people push toward the stage. I pull a chair away from a table, lean it against the wall, and sit on the back with my feet on the seat.
Shrouded in the shadows, I take in the entire scene. The lights. The stage. The crowd. The pulsing music. Then I zone in on the drummer. He’s good. Not as good as me, but I can admit he’s talented. Justin belts out lyrics. I wouldn’t have thought it, but he does justice to Green Day. Wish I had a chance to play this band. Their music has a certain energy I admire as a drummer. Sam plays his bass, bounces to the beat, and yells out the heys exuberantly into the microphone.
Finally, unable to stop myself any longer, I look at Romeo. He steps toward the edge of the stage and starts the guitar solo. His back bows. The muscles of his arms clench when he lifts the guitar. His fingers fly over the stem. Dressed in designer shredded black jeans, a chrome belt, black boots, and a black collared shirt, he looks like a rock god. And sitting out here on the other side, I can see why girls fall for him. Not that I didn’t fall for him on the inside.
Want rolls through me. I’m enamored with him all over again. But now I’m just one of the unknown faces in the endless sea of the crowd.
The song ends and Justin starts spouting his blah, blah, blah. Here’s one thing I don’t miss. Romeo goes to the back of the stage and chugs down water. Justin continues his lame rhetoric while some guy I’ve never seen be
fore comes out with a keyboard.
I sit up straighter, wondering what’s going on. Romeo comes back to his microphone. He gives Justin a look and the ass finally quits talking. The lights dim. I’m on the edge of my seat. Romeo breaks into a loud, powerful riff. Lights flash.
The crowd goes wild and I stand on the chair.
Oh hell no. This was my idea. I wanted to do this damn song. Really, really bad.
Sam steps up to the center microphone and lets out a scream that morphs into, “I can’t stand it. I know you planned it.”
The Beastie Boys’ Sabotage sounds as energetic as I knew it would. Sam belts it out in a perfect nasal twang like the original. I’m pissed it sounds so awesome. I’m also ecstatic.
But even with my love of the song, I’m soon watching Romeo playing instead of concentrating on the music. I drink in the sight of his carved profile. The harsh line of his jaw. The flop of his hair. From this distance, I imagine the flash of his dark eyes. Then I remember the low, deep rumble of his voice near my ear paired with his fingers making patterns on my skin.
I fall against the wall.
More songs come but I pay little attention. I’m lost watching the one thing I want most in this world but cannot have. My stupid, stupid heart is twisting and fracturing, but I can’t look away. I’m wilting, morphing into a wallflower with torn petals and a broken stem. I’m suffocating yet alive. Finally, they take a break and I can breathe fully without Romeo in my vision.
I slide down onto the chair.
A buzz of conversation breaks out that’s louder than the music coming from the speakers overhead. The people wandering around me don’t seem to notice the girl sitting with her heart bleeding in her hands. Bright and bubbly in their fancy party clothes, they laugh and cheer and drink. They wait for the New Year.
I wait for nothing.
They’re excited.
I’m empty.
A low light flicks over the stage with two vacant stools in the middle. A hush goes through the crowd and they press forward again.
