I stare down at the table. At the crumpled napkins between us, and the spilled salsa pooling on the table next to his arm. I don’t know what to say. And he pauses so long, it feels like a good-bye.
Until he says, “You wanna come?”
Jacob is waiting for me by the girls’ locker room before practice begins.
“Where were you at lunch?” His voice isn’t possessive, just curious. He slides his arm around my shoulders as we walk.
Bobby and I didn’t get caught, but I was too anxious to skip the rest of the afternoon with him. He dropped me off like he’d promised and told me to walk in like I owned the place. I did. Nobody stopped me.
“I had to do some research,” I say. “For history. Sorry I forgot to tell you.”
“It’s cool,” he says, squeezing me to him. I try to relax, but my whole body is tense, like a rubber band ready to snap in half. “Edwina was freaking out about Bobby.”
I turn my head to look at him as we walk. “About what?”
“He’s been skipping classes. Their parents are pissed.”
“Oh.” His skipping classes is going to be the least of their problems soon if what he said is true. That he’s probably leaving.
“Mavis!”
Shit. My father.
Jacob and I stop and turn and wait for him to catch up. The legs of his athletic pants swish together as he strides toward us.
“Hey, Jacob.” He greets my boyfriend with a grin. “I need to talk to Mavis for a minute. See you out there?”
“Yeah, Coach.” Jacob returns his smile and briefly turns it on me before he continues down the hall.
My heart thumps and thumps as I wait for my father to speak. Maybe he does know I skipped out for a while. I take a deep breath. Prepare myself for his lecture.
“Honey,” he begins, and that’s weird. Because he doesn’t exactly call me honey when he’s mad at me.
I blink at him.
“Is everything all right with you?”
My heartbeat instantly slows. “Sure, Dad. Why?”
“You haven’t seemed like yourself this week, and I’m wondering . . . is it the meet?”
If only.
But I can’t say it’s something else, because then he’ll want to have a big discussion about how I can’t let myself get distracted. How I have to keep my eye on the prize. Keep excelling at what we’ve been working for all these years.
We.
I clear my throat. “I guess . . . I guess I’m a little nervous.”
“I thought so,” he says, practically smiling. Jesus. Since when should someone else’s anxiety be a source of relief? “Look, I understand. It’s getting down to crunch time, when you have to prove yourself. I’ve been there.”
I chew on my bottom lip so I’m not tempted to say that we’re not in the same position. I care about jumping hurdles. I love it. I feel my best when I’m sailing over them on the spongy clay-colored track. But I don’t love it as much as he did. Or does now. And maybe I never will.
“But the scouts are coming to see you because they know you’re one of the best,” he says. “You know that too. And I know you don’t want to let them down.”
I nod, even though this is probably the worst pep talk I’ve ever heard.
“Stay focused, okay, honey? You’ve just gotta stay focused until next week. I don’t want to see you getting preoccupied with other things during practice. We need to improve your start off the block. . . .”
I zone out. It’s the only way I can handle this.
I wonder what would happen if I didn’t show up to the meet. If I just disappeared. I wonder what would happen if no one could find me afterward, either.
When I tune back in, he’s staring at me. Saying, “Okay, honey?”
I nod again. Smile so he’ll think I not only heard him but appreciate the feedback. “Okay, Dad. Thanks.”
We walk together down the quiet hallway. Everyone has either gone home or split off into their after-school practices and meetings. Dad pauses by the door that leads to the athletic field, his fingers gripping the handle.
“And Mavis?”
I look up. “Hmm?”
“No more cheeseburgers until after the meet.”
I told Bobby I didn’t know.
I’ve been thinking about it nonstop, his question. All weekend, I could hear his voice no matter what I was doing. Brushing my teeth, reading for English lit, talking to my father about the upcoming meet.
“You wanna come?”
I figured he’d make the decision for me, leave when he wanted to leave and not tell me until it was too late or I had to choose at the last minute. He doesn’t wait for anyone to get on board with what he wants.
So I’m surprised when he’s standing by the fence after track practice on Monday afternoon. I let the girls on my team file past me on their way back to the locker room and take my time making my way up the hill to where he stands. It’s warm out for late February, even in L.A., and he’s wearing a black T-shirt with Eric B. and Rakim lyrics printed on the front. I’m sweating everywhere and stand back a bit in case I stink.
“Thought any more about it?”
He doesn’t have to clarify what it is. Obviously it’s the only thing on his mind, and he must know the same is true for me too.
“Yeah, I . . . I don’t know.”
We’d essentially be running away. And when people run away, they need to have something to run from, right? People don’t just pick up and leave everything they know when they have a good life . . . do they?
Maybe they do for love.
Bobby nods. “All right. Well, I’m leaving tomorrow night.”
The big meet is in two days.
I wipe perspiration from my forehead with the back of my arm. “You haven’t told Edwina?”
“Fuck no. You kidding?” His eyes widen the most I’ve seen them in a long time. “You haven’t said anything?”
“Of course not.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see the boys are finishing up their practice. Jacob will be walking by soon. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“I know.” Bobby’s voice is even quieter than normal. “Look, I know it sounds crazy, Mavis. But I wouldn’t ask just anyone. I think . . . you and I . . .”
I stare at him.
“I don’t know if I could give you everything you have here. Maybe someday. But I promise I’d take care of you the best I could.”
He can’t even take care of himself.
That’s what Edwina would say, and I hate that I’m hearing her voice right now, during one of the biggest moments of my life. Bobby isn’t much for words, but what he just said . . . it’s the equivalent of what I feel for him. I know it.
“What time tomorrow?”
“Late. After our parents go to bed.” And the look on his face is so surprising, so un-Bobby, that it takes me a few seconds to place it: hope.
“I don’t have a lot of money,” I say, though I probably have more than him. His and Edwina’s parents do well, but they cut him off even before he went to rehab. What little he has is saved up from the part-time job he used to have as an excuse to get out of the house.
“We can get jobs.”
“What about school?”
What about the Olympics? What about my future?
I don’t say that last part aloud, but the impatience more than flickers on his face. It lingers. I’m being too technical, asking too many questions about a future he’s purposely trying not to plan.
The chatter from the guys makes its way over to us as they walk up to the school. Jacob looks over. I can’t read the expression on his face, but he doesn’t look as happy to see me as he always does. His eyes shift to Bobby. He doesn’t look at all pleased to see him. Has Edwina been complaining more about her brother?
Or can he finally tell, after a year of being with me?
Jacob looks away first. Jogs to catch up with one of his teammates and claps him on the back to get his attention. But I watch him until
he gets to the door. He glances back at me once more before he slips inside.
Bobby sighs. “Look, Mavis . . . I don’t have all the answers. Except that I have to get out of here. And I want you with me.”
He reaches out into the sliver of space between us and slides his hand along my hip. Under the fabric of my tank top and along the light brown skin just above the waistband of my gym shorts. I shiver all over.
He doesn’t touch me anywhere else, and he doesn’t try to kiss me. He doesn’t have to.
I go about the next day like it’s any other day of the week, of my life.
I eat lunch at our usual table and fawn over the new issue of the lit mag, hot off the presses. When Edwina pesters me about submitting, I say that maybe I’ll send her something for the next issue. She beams so hard it makes my heart hurt.
I’m extra sweet to Jacob. He didn’t say anything about seeing me with Bobby, but I make sure to hold his hand between classes, and I change quickly before practice so we can walk outside together.
But every single moment of the day has a new significance. I wonder if it will be the last time I do all of those things, if this is the last chapter to the book of Mavis as I know it.
My mother’s car pulls into the driveway a few minutes after Dad and I get home. I stare out the living room window as she walks up the path. She hasn’t been home before ten o’clock in at least two weeks.
“Don’t look so surprised,” she says with a tired smile. “I’m not officially living at the office.”
“Are you done with the big case?” I ask as she kisses my cheek.
She swipes at my face with her thumb, removing traces of her lipstick. “Almost. I’m going back after dinner, but I couldn’t stomach another night of eating takeout across from Patrick and Lisa.”
Dad can barely stop smiling through dinner. I watch him being cute with Mom at the table, and I wonder if he’d back off a little if she were around more. I know that’s not fair. She’s not always this busy, and she makes time for me when she’s home. But it’s nice to get a break, to have someone else at the table to distract him from going over stats for the millionth time or monitoring how much and what I’m eating.
“I’ll get the dishes tonight, Mavis,” Dad says when I start to clear our empty plates.
“Yes, you should go up and rest,” Mom says after taking a sip of water. “Word on the street is you have a big meet tomorrow.”
I shrug, even though I know my apparent apathy kills Dad. He doesn’t have to tell me the meet is all he’s thought about for the last forty-eight hours.
“I know I haven’t been around much lately, but I’m going to try to make it tomorrow, okay, sweetie?” she continues. “I love watching you fly over those hurdles.”
“Our girl’s looking great,” Dad says. “I can’t wait for them to see her.”
I kiss them and hug them and say good night, even though I know Dad will pop his head in before he goes to bed. I keep it together until I leave the room, but when I get to the stairs, I feel that familiar ball of pressure behind my eyes and nose, like I’m going to cry. Only no tears come. And what kind of monster does that make me? What if that’s the last time I ever see my mother?
I go up to my room and open my notebook and textbooks as if I’m going to start on my homework, same as any other weeknight. But I sit down at my desk only for a minute before I’m in my closet, rummaging through shoes and boxes for my largest duffel.
Bobby said to pack light, and I stare at my room helplessly as I wonder what I should leave behind. The clothing is easy—it’s everything else I can’t figure out. Do I take whole photo albums to remember every important thing that’s ever happened, or just a few pictures with Mom and Dad and Edwina and Jacob in them? And what about my medals? There’s a good chance I won’t be running hurdles again for some time, if ever, but will bringing along reminders of my accomplishments weigh me down?
Mom leaves again for the office, and I slip my duffel back into the closet when Dad sticks his head in to say good night.
“You’re going to do great tomorrow, honey,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks,” I say. And then I wonder if I should say something bigger, something more substantial to tide him over until I see him again.
Like “I couldn’t have done it without you” or “Sometimes it really sucks, but I know you’re only so tough on me because you want the best for me.” Or even just “I love you, Dad.”
But the words get stuck in my throat. So I smile at him and he closes the door and I listen to him walk down the hall. Hear the water turn on in the shower, and then rustling around for the next twenty minutes until he flips on his sound machine and gets into bed.
Bobby texts a few minutes later and says he’ll be by to get me in an hour. He’ll park down the street and I’m to go out and meet him and tonight we will start our new life.
I didn’t know I was going to say yes. Looking into his eyes yesterday afternoon, feeling his hand on my hip like I was already his, it was hard to say no. I didn’t think about what happens if he starts drinking again, that no matter how much I try to help him, he’s going to do what he wants. Will he go to AA meetings on the road? Find a new sponsor? We didn’t talk about it.
And I’m old enough to get a job, but neither of us has any real skills. Will I have to serve up burgers I’m not supposed to eat or sell crappy clothes in a mall, because those are the only things I’m qualified for? College was never a choice—it was an expectation, but not just from my parents. I’ve always known I’ll be on the track team wherever I go, but I like the idea of having a degree that says I put in the time, that I’m especially knowledgeable about a particular subject. I could get my GED, but it seems wrong when you grow up the way I did, full of support and love and encouragement.
Those tears finally spring to my eyes when I think again about my parents. My dad isn’t always the easiest person to be around, and my mother is hardly around at all for many weeks at a time, but they’re genuinely good people. And no matter what, if I leave like this, they’re going to think it’s their fault. They’re going to worry. Even if I tell them I’m safe and with Bobby, they won’t ever feel at ease. My father might never forgive me for wasting everything I’ve worked toward. I can’t even think about how Edwina will take the news. Or what Jacob’s face will look like when he realizes he didn’t know me at all.
I could let Bobby go, alone, but the churning in my stomach lets me know that I’d worry even more if he ran away without me.
I want—I need to tell him all of this, but I just keep turning my phone over in my hands every time I start to call or text. I don’t want to disappoint him. He’ll tell me everything will be okay, that we’ll figure out a way to make things work because we’re us. We’ll be together and that means everything will be all right.
I sit on my bed, my packed bag at my feet, and stare at the clock above my desk until it says he will be here in ten minutes.
My palms sweat as I pick up the phone. He answers on the second ring. “Hey there. What’s going on?”
Jacob’s voice is drowsy.
“Were you asleep?”
“Mmm, not totally. Always awake for you. Something wrong?”
I pause for too long, hoping he’ll figure it out and force me to confess. But he was asleep. I can tell by the way he can’t stop yawning and how his voice never picks up to its normal speed. He might not even remember I called in the morning.
“No,” I finally say in a small voice. “Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to say good night. And I love you.”
We’ve said it before. The first time was months ago, and I’ve always felt like a bit of a fraud, because while there is so much I love about Jacob, it’s not the love I know I’m capable of.
It will never be the same as the love I have for Bobby. And there’s no rule that says you have to love everyone equally, but I know the two should be reversed in my heart.
“Love you too, Mavis. Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”
He hangs up with the softest click, will probably be asleep again within minutes.
I pace my room, drinking in every last detail with my eyes because taking a picture seems like it would be cheating. If I’m going to run away, it has to be all or nothing. Which is why I didn’t pack any of the photo albums. Or photos. Except for the one of my parents on their wedding day that is my favorite, the one I took from their album and have had propped up on my desk for years. I’ve always liked it best because they look so in love, but it seems like a good one to have so I can remember they were happy before I came around. They can be happy without me.
I nearly jump across the room when Bobby’s text comes through.
Outside.
I take a deep breath and I pick up my duffel and walk toward my door. Take one last look before I put my hand on the knob.
And then I stand still. I don’t know for how long, but I don’t move again until his next text comes through.
Hey, you ready? Need help with your bag?
The tears fall this time, drip all the way down my chin and into my collarbone. Which is more important? The love I have for someone who doesn’t have enough, or the love that fills every other part of my life?
I thought I would know by now.
I thought I already knew.
You coming?
The Historian, the Garrison, and the Cantankerous Cat Woman
LAMAR GILES
THEN
We started this dark journey three years ago, me and Jermaine.
My mom, a librarian by trade, had been hired as the new Historian for this godforsaken town of Glen Creek, Virginia. She grew up here, told tough stories about lingering attitudes toward people with brown skin and the kind of hair you didn’t see in the shampoo ads. Stories that concluded with her running away to New York when she was eighteen.
There she stayed through her waitstaff-financed college years. A good relationship that changed when two became three. And then single motherhood.
When Glen Creek’s former Historian—the grandmother I never knew—got sick and broke the vow to never speak to my mother again, Mom became the prodigal daughter. She came home. And dragged me with her.
Three Sides of a Heart Page 20
