Mending Michael

by J. P. Grider

  I see in her face she immediately regretted that question, so I shake it off. "Let's just say, it goes along with all that is wrong with my parents...and me." I say the latter more to myself than to Holly.

  "So...Holiday. Where did your folks come up with that name?"

  28

  HOLLY

  I groan at his question.

  A not-so-serious but unfortunate thing for an unborn child is for its mother to be celebrity-obsessed. Which was the case in my case and in my mother's decision to name me after all things Audrey. I did inherit my mother's obsession with Ms. Hepburn, but I could have done without the name Holiday Eliza Sabrina Buchanan, aka Holly for short.

  "My mother had...has this huge obsession with Audrey Hepburn...and she thought it'd be cute to name me after some of her popular characters." I shake my head in mortification.

  "Some of her characters? Plural?"

  Rolling my eyes, I try to avoid answering his question.

  "That's right, I do remember seeing an E.S. on your license." His eyes roll up to the right before he says, "Holiday E. S. Buchanan, right?"

  "Correct," I say, humiliated.

  "Let's see...Holly is easy. After Holly Golightly, right?"

  "I'm impressed."

  "Wait, wait." He holds up his finger, enjoying this way too much. "Holiday. Roman Holiday?"

  "Not bad. Is your mom an Audrey fan too? I know you said she watched Breakfast at Tiffany's."

  "She was movie-obsessed. Any movie really. It was her way to escape. That...and the alcohol."

  I'm at a loss for words. He's pretty much implied his whole family has a fondness for drinking. So I just kind of say, "Hmmm," because I can't think of the appropriate response.

  Mick taps me on the knee and clicks his tongue. "So...the E and the S. You'll have to help me out there."

  "Eliza Sabrina," I moan. "Eliza Dolittle from My Fair Lady and Sabrina Fairchild...from her movie Sabrina."

  "Cute. So your name is Holiday Eliza Sabrina Buchanan." He turns his face to really look at me, and he narrows his eyes. "Yes. It suits you."

  Punching him on the thigh, I say, "No busting."

  "Oh. No busting? Does that mean you'll stop your snippy comments too?"

  Uh oh. "I'll try," I promise, lowering my chin to my chest in humble apology. Yes, in sarcastic humble apology.

  While my head is still down, his shoulder bumps into mine. On purpose. "Hey," he says quietly. "I wasn't busting. I really do like your name."

  I tilt my head up and give him a genuine thank you. "And I like your name too," I say, and then mentally chastise myself for sounding so flirty.

  "Yeah. Mick. Good name."

  "I'm talking about Michael. It's a nice solid name. I like it."

  "My sister's the only one that still calls me that. She says it sounds like the name of a man you can count on." He rubs his hand on his thighs, and the small dimple on his face reappears.

  "She's right." I nod. "Your sister. It is the name of a man you can count on. And I'm sure that's why she still calls you that... Michael."

  He thinks about this for a second and a very small smile plays at his lips. I decide right then to call him Michael from here on in. Something tells me he needs to be reminded that he's one of the good guys.

  29

  MICK

  "I spoke to Donny today," I say after my heart rate slows down. Something had changed in her tone and in her eyes that had set my chest to pounding, and I had needed to calm myself down before speaking.

  "Yeah?"

  Slowly, I nod. "He's gonna switch shifts with me. I'll be working ten to six. He'll take the evening."

  Pulling back and sitting straighter, Holly says, "Really?"

  "I won't be working weekends anymore either. He's gonna hire someone for that."

  "That's a lot less money for you, isn't it?" Her question is more of a statement than a question.

  "I'll be fine. I won't be paying rent for my apartment anymore… not that I paid very much for it," I joke. Rent was a meager one-hundred dollars a month. "Besides, I'm going to look for a different job. I'll just bartend until I get one."

  "What kind of different job?"

  "IT. I have two Bachelor's degrees. One for Information Technology. One for Business. I was studying for my Master's in Technology Management, but...I dropped out this week."

  "Dropped out?"

  "Yeah," I shrug. "With Kenna and all, I just didn't see how I could swing it."

  "Couldn't you have worked something out with your professors?"

  "I just emailed them. Told them I wouldn't be back."

  "Oh, Michael, you should see if you can, I don't know..."

  I don't even know what she says after that, because all I keep hearing is her voice calling me Michael. Over. And over.

  But when I realize she's staring at me, waiting for a response, I say, "I just...I think I'll just deal with my education at some other point in my life." At least I hope this is what we're still talking about. "Right now, I'm really just concerned about getting Kenna back...and getting her settled."

  "You're right," she says, not looking confused at my response, so I'm guessing I had answered properly. "I'm sorry. First things first, as my grandfather would say." She smiles and pats my knee.

  "What if... I..." I try to shake the dread away, but it doesn't budge. "What if...if I don't get her...back, Holly? What if they don't give her back to me?"

  She crosses her legs Indian-style on the bench and cups her hands around the front of each shin, looking so young and innocent in her peach tank top and a sweater that looks two sizes too big on her. "You're getting a lawyer, right?"

  "I'm gonna make calls Monday morning. The chief in my town is making some calls too. So far, no luck." I sigh, feeling the urge to drink wash over me again. "I wish they didn't go and take her on a Friday afternoon. That was just...unjust."

  She nods, agreeing with me. "I was reading about that online last night, or this morning...after work...but they do that deliberately, so they have time to research you and find out about you while keeping the child safe...allegedly." She uses finger quotes. "It's not fair to those whose children are taken unnecessarily, but that's why they do it."

  "Well that just sucks."

  "I know it does," she agrees, her voice a whisper. "Do you have enough money for the lawyer? 'Cause I can ask..."

  "I'm fine. I have some put away. Bartenders get good tips." I laugh. "It's why I wasn't ready to give it up."

  "Well, if there's anything I can do..."

  "You've done so much already. Really. Thank you. Even though I've been such a dick to you." I shake my head, "I'm..."

  "Stop." She rests her hand on my forearm and leaves it there. "I was just as much a bitch to you. Hey... just 'cause we're rotten to each other, doesn't mean we can't be friends, right?" she says with a wink.

  A wink.

  I know it's just in play, but more than ever do I want to be more than friends with her.

  Plus, I haven't even had the urge to smack her in several hours.

  30

  HOLLY

  The emotions running through me are foreign. I've had boyfriends before, and I've had butterflies, but...

  This....

  Feels different...

  There is some kind of rope tugging me to him.

  I mean, some days, I can't even stand the guy. But days like today, when I see his vulnerability...

  I can't even put into words my feelings for him.

  I dislike heaviness, so I stand up and move to the very edge of the cliff, my feet jutting out over the levee, and look down into the river. "What if I jump? Like, right now?"

  I feel him hop up behind me.

  A second later, he's grabbing my arm and pulling me back. "No," he says, his voice so harsh I don't recognize it.

  I turn to face him, and I'm surprised to see a look of horror cross his face—his eyes are wide, his mouth parted, panic is written all over.

  "I was j
ust teasing. Geez."

  Abruptly, he releases my arm as if he'd been scorched, and turns away. "You'll never change. You'll always be a jerk-off," he mutters to himself, but I hear him anyway.

  Well that took care of the heaviness.

  "It's time to go," he says, his shoulders slumped, his tone defeated.

  I am a jerk-off. I have no idea why.

  When we get to his motorcycle, he yanks on his helmet and looks at me with narrowed eyes. For a moment, we don't move...until I break the spell first.

  Pulling on my helmet, I lightheartedly say, "Let's go, Lone Ranger," but my heart is anything but light. I don't like being a smart-ass to Mick... Michael. But my mouth runs despite my intentions.

  Since I have no choice in the matter, and neither does he, I wrap my arms snuggly around his waist and press my cheek against his back. Through his blue flannel shirt, he still smells like Good & Plenty candy. There's a rigidness to his back on the ride home, unlike before, when he seemed at ease and relaxed. And this time, there's no "accidental" hand rubbing against mine.

  I have to vow not to drive him insane with my sarcasm. Right now, he needs help, and for some unknown reason, I feel the call to be that help.

  He drops me at my building with barely a nod.

  So I sit down on the curb after he pulls away, ignore all the missed calls and texts on my phone, and message him right away.

  I'm sorry I upset you. Not sure what I did originally, but I'm sorry I wasn't sympathetic to it.

  Too sappy? I'm not sure, but I press send anyway and go up to my room, falling asleep fast once my head hits the pillow.

  ***

  As soon as I wake up, I regret texting him. I don't succumb to weakness. Apologizing for doing nothing is something my mother would do. Not me. And this is not the first time I've apologized to him for doing nothing. So in my ever-bratty fashion, I pick up my phone to text Mick some snippy comment that would negate anything I'd said in my moment of weakness.

  But just as I'm ready to start thumbing away on the keyboard, my phone dings with a text from him.

  It really was nothing you did. It's me...again. Something I'm dealing with.

  I contemplate my dilemma. Do I respond with a snippy text, just to keep him on his toes and let him know I'm no wuss? Or do I respond with what a normal person would reply with - a sympathetic "I understand."

  But I thrive on not being normal, so I type:

  Well go deal with it and stop taking your bipolar shit out on me.

  Okay, not snippy, more like angry and petty, but I press send anyway, feeling much better now that we got that whole weakness thing out of the way.

  I go through the rest of the texts that sit unread on my phone and call Griffin.

  "What the hell, Holly? We've been trying to find you all night. Cali was ready to call the hospitals."

  "Geez, get a grip. You really needed to send me fifty-three texts last night."

  "Fifty-three?"

  "Between you, your girlfriend, and Braden, my texts added up to fifty-three. Not to mention my fourteen missed calls."

  "Sue us for caring."

  They care? "Yeah. You guys were probably just bored without my stunning personality to keep you entertained."

  "You got it. Now come to breakfast with us. We're meeting Nate at the pancake house, and I believe Tabitha's coming."

  "And be a fifth wheel? No thanks."

  "Whaddya mean a fifth wheel?"

  "You setting up Nathan with Cali's friend?"

  Griffin laughs... way loud. "Like Nate'd want Tabitha. You've met him. He's too... upright and...scrupulous for her. She's a party girl. Anyway, so you're not a fifth wheel. Just a fifth friend. Now will you come?"

  "Ugh. I guess. I do like pancakes."

  "I know," he teases. "We'll be outside your dorm at ten. Good?"

  Just like he'd promised, Griffin is parked outside my dorm at ten. I am happy to be spending time with Griff. Since he started going with Cali, and now with my job, I don't get to hang with him as much.

  The niggling in my stomach though is making me feel uneasy, and that makes me not really want to be hanging out right now. I actually feel like screaming for God knows what reason. But I slide in next to Tabitha in the back of Griff's old BMW and fake being my happy-go-lucky self that they all expect me to be.

  "So what happened last night?" Cali asks, her voice laced with concern. "You had us worried."

  "Just, you know, picked up a guy, made his night, that sorta thing."

  Griffin eyes me from the rearview mirror. "A call would've been nice, Holl."

  "Yeah, I know. My bad."

  He shakes his head up there in the driver's seat.

  "Stop the car," I shout.

  "What?"

  "Stop the car. Please, Griff, turn around."

  "Stop or turn around?" he asks, slowing down.

  "Turn. Bring me back."

  "Holl, I'm sorry. I was just worried last night. Please don't..."

  "Griff. Just turn around."

  When Griffin finally turns around at the bottom of the hill, my stomach settles a little.

  He's leaning against his bike, half-sitting on the seat, texting someone, when we pull up outside my building.

  "What's Mick doing here?" Griffin, incredulous, asks.

  "I don't know," I say, pretending I really have no freaking idea. Though I'm pretty sure he's here because of the last text I sent him.

  "Is he why you wanted me to turn around?"

  "Uh. Yeah. I saw him pass."

  "And you just happened to know he was stopping here, in front of your dorm?"

  I push on the back of Griffin's seat. "Just let me out, Griff."

  He gets out and pushes his seat forward. "Do we wait?"

  I look at Mick, who now sees me get out of the tiny car, and I say, "Nah. Just go on without me."

  Not even bothering to give Griffin another glance, or a goodbye to any of them, I nudge forward nervously, never losing eye contact with Mick, whose phone he has now tucked away, and whose arms are now crossed authoritatively in front of his chest.

  Once Griff pulls away, Mick speaks. "I. Am. Not. Bipolar."

  31

  MICK

  Again, I repeat, "I am not bipolar," because she just stands there eying me. I can't tell if she's contemplating what caustic remark to cut me with this time, or if she's spacing out. "You in there?" I say when I can no longer stand her silence.

  "You're crazy, you know that? I never know what the fuck to say or not say around you. Sometimes you look like you're just dying to cry, and sometimes you look like you want me to die. What is it with you? Because if you're not bipolar, then you're schizo." All this she says in one long hot, sweet-smelling, breath.

  And I sigh.

  I feel my shoulders drop and everything. There is no way I can keep it in any longer. The tears that have been building and building for the last eighteen years are finally stronger than the dam I built around my heart. They rush out like they’re nobody's business and spill out, right there, alongside my motorcycle, in front of the only person slick enough to weaken the dam.

  Holly broke my dam.

  She climbed over it, got inside my heart, and chiseled away at it until it was no longer strong enough to keep my emotions intact.

  And I hate her for it.

  32

  HOLLY

  Oh my God. He's crying. Not just crying, but sobbing. Like waterfall spilling from his eyes sobbing. This has never happened to anyone in front of me before. I don't know what to do.

  "There, there," doesn't seem to cut it, so luckily I keep those words to myself.

  "Um, Michael," I mutter, edging closer to him, unsure of what he wants from me.

  He drops his head and cries harder the closer I get to him.

  So the only thing I can think of to do is hug him.

  So I hug him.

  And he lets me.

  33

  MICK

  Her arms are warm. An
d comforting. And safe.

  And yet I hate her.

  I hate her for making me cry. I hate her for caring about Kenna. I hate her for wanting to help me through this. And I hate her for ever setting foot into the bar.

  Because if she'd never set foot into the bar, she'd never have found her way into my heart.

  But I let her hold me. Because I need to be held. Because I need to be held by Holly.

  Half my ass is still on my bike seat, my legs, crossed at the ankles, are between Holly's legging-covered legs, and my head is pretty much tucked into the crook of her neck. And I am all too aware of her rapidly increasing vein pulsing beneath her soft skin.

  My tears come to a stop, and I leave the remaining ones left on my cheeks to dry, while I pull back and look into Holly's brown eyes. "You were right," I grumble, my voice wet and raspy. "I am crazy...I'm just not bipolar or schizo, as you so tenderly put it."

  Her pupils begin to get smaller, returning to their normal size, and she nibbles at the inside of her lip, as she suppresses a chuckle. "Yeah. Schizo, crazy, same thing," she jokes, but her voice wavers. She's uncomfortable with emotions. I get it. I totally get it.

  While Holly was holding me, her hands had wrapped around my upper back, my arms had slid naturally around her waist. So now that she'd pulled away, her arms lay on my shoulders, while my hands are formed easily around her waist.

  It takes us both a moment to actually realize this, and simultaneously, we drop our hands from one another, afraid to continue our embrace.