by K Larsen
Jezebel set her mouth in a grim line at her humming. She speared Annabelle with a murderous look. “When it’s right, you will be able to talk about the tough stuff, easy stuff and everything else easily. You won’t be able to get enough of each other. You’ll have to spend all your time together doing absolutely nothing important.” As she spoke her eyes danced with delight. “When you touch, your skin will ignite. It will feel like static electricity. His kisses will make you lightheaded. In his eyes you won’t have flaws. You will sweet beet, but he will love you for them. He will listen to you, treat you with respect and trust.” The softness and fondness of Jezebel’s voice proved that she was indeed speaking from the heart. From experience. “He will support you emphatically in whatever you choose to pursue. You will want to please him. You will do things you normally detest doing simply because it makes him smile and you love seeing his smile.” She drew in a breath and continued on. “When you’re running late for work, you’ll find your coffee mug full and your car running with the heat on already. It will feel like a worn-in cashmere blanket has wrapped your heart up. It will feel like you’ve won the lottery, and really- you will have. Love is powerful. It can heal, it can lift—it can also drag you down into the depths of hell and burn you until you’re no longer recognizable—so you must be careful with your heart,” she concluded.
Annabelle sat slack-jawed at Jezebel’s rant. It was romantic. It was honest. It was . . . she didn’t have the right words to sum up what she felt but she knew that the woman sitting across from her was one in a million. She was the kind of mother she wanted, full of solid advice and honest truths. She read into Annabelle’s brief words and dug deep forming a bridge between a bad teenage attitude and an actual conversation. The woman was like a magician. Maybe it was simply because she wasn’t Annabelle’s parent or any relative or maybe Jezebel was really just that good. Either way, Annabelle felt a brief moment of luck for sharing any kind of moment with her.
“I . . . No, Damon and I don’t have that. It’s more of a waste-our-time-together kind of relationship. You know, better than being alone. We have fun. God, this isn’t coming out right at all.” Annabelle twisted in her seat, trying to appear comfortable and perfectly at ease. She wasn’t.
“I understand. It’s easy. Comfortable. I’m sure he’s nice enough and you are too. You’re biding your time.” She nodded at Jezebel, confirming what she’d said. That was it. “Yes.”
“But, why? Why waste your time?” she pressed. “You could be missing out on meeting the one who isn’t a waste of your time.”
Annabelle hadn’t thought of her time in that way before. Her choices were instant usually. She just felt something then did it. Planning ahead seemed like something for after college. She shrugged, unable to think of a valid answer.
“You shouldn’t be scared to dream a little bigger, tiger. There’s a great big world waiting for you to actually join it.”
~***~
Annabelle schlepped her way home. She hated the bus. Today though, the ride went quickly, Jezebel’s words heavy in her mind. She’d avoided emotions, choices that required emotions, for so long now that each time Jezebel spoke, the words assaulted her. She felt them all. It was a strange sensation for her. Feeling was something that didn’t exist in her home. For eight years her family survived by not feeling.
Dinner was on the table waiting by the time she walked through the door. The bus had been late. She dropped her purse in the entryway and toed off her sneakers before padding into the dining room.
“You’re late,” her mother scolded as Annabelle sat in her chair.
“I’m sorry. The bus was behind.”
“Do you have homework?” her father questioned.
“Yes. Not a lot though.”
He grunted a response and the room was enveloped in the sound of utensils clanking against plates and food being consumed. Why did they have nothing to talk about? When had they really stopped trying? Annabelle thought hard but couldn’t come up with a timeline. It was as if each passing year as a family they interacted less and less. She felt the sting of absence.
“Hey Mom,” she blurted, “how was your day? What’d you do?”
Her mother’s eyes cut to hers in shock. Her fork, midway to her mouth, was set down to her plate. Her lips pressed tightly together, giving her that pinched look that Annabelle hated. Maybe this was a mistake. Being a functional family was too much work.
“My day?” her mother asked quietly. She stared at her plate as if it held a secret answer.
“Yeah,” Annabelle confirmed and held her gaze.
“It was . . . long. Today was long,” her mother answered. Annabelle noticed her mother’s eyes were on her father now. He stared at his plate, not noticing his wife’s sad stare. “Thank you for asking Belle,” she said politely.
“Dad?” Annabelle said. “How was your day?”
His brows knit together at her question. “It was busy. Made a few new sales. John was happy with that.”
“That’s great news,” her mother offered, suddenly perking up.
“Yeah,” he answered and resumed staring at his plate as he forked bites into his mouth. Annabelle wanted to scream at him. She wanted to fill the room with noise. She wanted him to look at her, at her mother, his wife. To see the wounded expression her mother wore at his neglect. Annabelle didn’t though. She simply sat and stewed quietly.
As she ate the last bite on her plate she looked up to her mom. When was the last time she’d seen her mom smile, laugh or relax?
“May I be excused?” she asked.
“Yes.” Her mother answered.
Annabelle collected her plate and utensils and stood. The chair made a scraping sound on the hardwood floor. It echoed. “When was the last time we were happy?” she asked the quiet room. It was rhetorical. She didn’t expect her parents to give her an answer.
Her father’s gaze snapped to hers, a warning look. It was better than no look, but maybe that was just her grasping at straws for attention. She flashed an angelic smile at him. Her mother covered her mouth with her hand to quiet her gasp. Annabelle shook her head frustrated at her parents. This house sucked the soul out of everyone who stayed in it. She stomped to the kitchen to rid herself of her dirty dishes. Dishes. Dirty. She felt dirty. Diseased. Disease clung to this family. Living in this house ensured a miserable existence. She couldn’t exactly pass judgment. The reality was that there was no one to fault for any of it. All the hurt, all the hostility, all the misery; it was just there. They were all just victims of life’s cruel game.
Once in her room, behind its closed door, she felt her breath seize up in her chest and the weight of panic bearing down on her. It squeezed her until she thought she might crack like an old fragile tea cup. Annabelle set her laptop on her bed and booted it up. She needed a distraction. She opened Facebook and saw she had a message waiting. She half-smiled when she saw Damon’s name. At least maybe he could distract her for a bit.
Damon: Sneak out tonight. I need to see you.
Annabelle: I can’t.
Damon: Come on gorgeous. We can’t do anything fun at school.
Annabelle: Sorry.
Damon: Sorry? Belle, come on. If you won’t sneak out I’ll sneak in.
Annabelle: Damon- DO NOT. If I get caught I’m screwed. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Damon: Yeah, maybe. Whatever. Bye.
Annabelle: Don’t be like that.
Damon: Belle, this sucks. Six months is a long time.
Annabelle sighed. Six months was a long time. A lifetime. She closed his chat message and opened Madison’s.
Annabelle: Damon’s a punk.
Madison: What’s new?
Annabelle: Nothing. Just bored I guess. Parents are being . . .
Madison: normal? Ha. How was your crazy old lady today?
Annabelle: She’s not old. She was entertaining.
Madison: Awesome. Gotta run. Mr. Clark killed us with homework tonight.
&nbs
p; Annabelle: See you tomorrow.
Madison: Later lovah.
She closed the laptop lid and stared at the picture on her nightstand. Four happy faces stared back at her. She was the mistake, she knew that. Brant was the golden child. Coveted by her parents. Her father’s son. His pride and joy. Daughters apparently didn’t count for much. She flipped the photo face down. It hurt to look at it. It hurt to think about it. She missed his smile. His laugh. His noogies. She missed damn near everything about him. She didn’t know how to say goodbye, none of them did it seemed. She missed the way he glued their family together. She missed him.
~***~
Annabelle tucked a strand of chocolate colored hair behind her ear as she walked down the corridor to suite 208. Over the week she’d found herself looking forward to today. She wasn’t sure if it was the story or Jezebel herself but she knew that her lips tipped up into a smile just thinking about her visit.
“Jez? You in here?” she called as she walked through the threshold.
“A moment, dear!” Jezebel answered from the bathroom door.
Annabelle sat in her usual spot and crossed her legs at the knee. Fiddling with her sweater sleeves she waited for Jezebel to join her.
“Ciao!” Jezebel chirped.
“Hi,” she answered, jaw tight, posture rigid.
“Why so glum?” Jezebel asked, creases forming on her forehead as she looked over her.
“Does it show?” Her shoulders slumped and she heaved a hopeless sigh.
“Darling, all that make-up you wear—it doesn’t cover up your emotions. You wear them plain as the sun shines through that window.” Jezebel nodded to the sunlight coming through the window.
“Har, har,” she replied dryly. “I tried. It didn’t work,” she admitted.
“Tried what?”
“Talking. I asked them about their days. Three nights in a row. I gave up after that.”
“Did they not answer you?” Jezebel asked indignantly.
“No, no. They did, but that was it. They just answered vaguely and that was that.”
Jezebel scrutinized her. It made her uncomfortable. “What happened to your family?”
“Tragedy.” Annabelle knew her answer was childish and dramatic but it accurately summed up the truth.
“Expand on that kiddo,” Jezebel said with a pointed look.
Annabelle sighed. She really didn’t want to get in to it. “I had a brother. He’s dead.” She pursed her lips in irritation.
“Ahh, sorry to hear that. And since his death things at home have been . . .”
“Miserable!” she threw her hands in the air and slammed them down on her thighs. “It’s like cancer in that house. Everything that tries to live there is devoured from the inside out,” she blurted, sounding far more hysterical than she would have liked.
“Maybe you need to try harder.” Jezebel’s voice was firm, but gentle.
“Me?” she squawked. “I’m the child. They are the adults.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“You’re an adult now. Don’t leave all the responsibility on their shoulders. If you want the family back, you should fight for it,” Jezebel answered.
Annabelle’s shoulders sagged. She could feel the weight of that suggestion without needing to think on it.
“It’s impossible. They don’t speak to each other, let alone me. We don’t talk about him ever. It’s eerie silence in my house.”
“Be the noise then,” Jezebel said. “Be the light. Be the laughter. It’s contagious you know, joy. A smile is the best make-up you can wear. Show them how it’s done. You are only home for a little more than five months- then you’ll be off to college. Take this time and do something with it.” Jezebel arched a challenging brow at her.
“How? I can’t just walk around laughing at nothing, smiling at the walls. They’ll think I’m nuts,” she crowed, frustrated.
“What do you remember from before your brother died?”
“He didn’t die. He was killed.” Her words were venomous as they left her mouth.
Jezebel’s eyes open wide. “That’s terrible.” Annabelle nodded her agreement.
“I was only ten. I remember my mom’s perfume, my dad’s big hand holding mine. I remember making cookies together, licking the batter from the mixing spoon. My parents used to come into my room to tuck me in, except when my dad was gone for business.” Annabelle chewed her lip to keep from saying any more. She couldn’t just air her family’s dirty secrets to any stranger. They had a reputation to keep up.
“Does he travel often?” Jezebel questioned.
“Yeah. He’s gone almost two weeks every month.”
Jezebel nodded. “Well, make cookies with your mom then. Turn music on. Dance around. Hold your dad’s hand. Hug them. That’s a good start.”
“I think they’d die of shock,” she stated dryly. Her hands bunched into fists.
“So let them!” Annabelle startled and stared at her wide-eyed. “What are you going to lose by trying?”
Annabelle shrugged. “Nothing I guess.”
“Then do it.”
She mustered some grit and jutted her chin out. “Can we talk about something else?” Annabelle needed to change the topic. There was only so much family talk her heart could bear. Her pain and grief over the matter made a solid fist in her belly. A tangled knot of emotion forever on the edge of bubbling over the edge.
“If you promise to try, yes.”
“Fine, Jez. I promise.” She gave in.
“Good, good. Now, our story, are you liking it?”
“It’s a little dull. But sure. You tell it well and I trust you when you say there’s a twist,” she admitted.
Jezebel clapped her hands together. “Well now that you know how they’ve met and how she was feeling for him- let’s skip ahead a bit yeah?”
“Sure.”
“Alright, let’s see . . . Paris, 1985.”
“So much for skipping ahead a bit,” she laughed.
“A lot can happen in a year’s time. Now, shh! I’m trying to talk here,” Jezebel teased.
Chapter 6
Celeste
Paris 1985
“Celeste, hurry up!” Mara cried from their room. “He’s been waiting ten minutes already.”
“For crap’s sake woman, I’m almost ready,” she answered. Checking herself in the mirror one last time, she decided the reflection staring back at her was as good as it was going to get. She pushed through the door and glanced at Mara.
“Damn. You are smokin,’” Mara said.
“Very funny,” she responded dryly.
“No really, Cece. You look rad. Gabriel is going to cream himself when he sees you.” Celeste giggled at her friend’s choice of words. Mara was all piss and vinegar, which was exactly what Celeste needed. She tended to be too much of an introvert, too polite and too pleasing. She hated to see others irritated at her. She loved bringing smiles to others faces. Mara and Matteo, each in their own way, had helped her come into her own.
Celeste and Mara had spent the last two days shopping for her trip to Italy with Gabriel . He was whisking her away for the weekend. Even her parents were thrilled they were getting away.
In a year, he had managed to charm her parents and her. Even Mara and Matteo liked him. Well, Matteo a little less than Mara. She’d understood why Gabriel was so possessive when it came to Matteo.
They’d had their first big fight after he walked into her dorm room and Matteo was in her bed. Sleeping, of course. They’d had a fantastic night out doing a pub crawl and crashed, drunk, when they got home. It wasn’t anything new and there was nothing sexual about it, but Gabriel had all but punched Matteo in the face when he’d seen them lying in bed together. She was so mad that she hadn’t talked to Gabriel for a week. The things he’d screamed at her were terrible.
Matteo and Mara were her best friends and she couldn’t imagine life without them. Gabriel was so mad he’d asked her to choose, and although she had fallen
head over heels in love with him, she would not abandon Matteo because a jealous man asked her to.
Obviously it had all worked out over the course of the last year.
Mostly.
Matteo and Gabriel weren’t each other’s biggest fans, but they put on a front in order to make her happy. Shaking the thoughts from her head she picked up her travel bag and kissed Mara on the cheek. She really needed this break. Gabriel’s work at her parent’s company kept him busy; too busy. Her school this year was stressful and kept her busy; too busy. They desperately needed this time together to unwind and just be.
Smiling, Celeste all but skipped down the hallway, stairs and out the front door of the dormitory. Her stomach was riddled with knots. The anticipation of the weekend to come set her heart to a frantic beat.
Gabriel scooped her up as she pushed through the door. She squealed with delight and clung to him as he spun her around. He stole her breath away.
“Good morning, mon amour.” My love. She loved it when he called her that. She peppered his face with kisses as he set her to her feet.
“Morning!”
“Are you ready for our vacation?”
“So ready. I don’t think I can stand waiting another minute.”
“Could have fooled me. Making me wait out here for ten minutes,” he said and gave her a sly smile.
She playfully smacked his arm. “You deserve nothing less than a beautiful woman on your arm. I wanted to look pretty for you.”
“Celeste, you always look beautiful, mon amour, you know that.” She blushed. He was always telling her that. She still hadn’t become immune to hearing it. She pushed up on her toes and kissed him. He groaned into her mouth and wrapped an arm around her as they walked toward his car. He set her bag in the trunk alongside his and opened her door for her. He was always doing sweet things for her. Always thoughtful and respectful. His linen shirt was unbuttoned at the top. It made her mouth water. His hard, defined chest barely peeking out at her. Suddenly she wanted to skip the vacation and rush to his apartment.
