That was enough, I told myself.
He was enough.
*****
It was love at first sight.
My mother fell for Mitch the second she met him. On paper, he was a great candidate for their only daughter and in real life, he was even better. He checked all the boxes for her. He had money to take care of me and he had a good job and a good brain and a nice apartment. He didn't like cats. To top it all off, he'd given me a beautiful expensive ring. To the delight of my father, he knew some Spanish, courtesy of several trips to Guatemala to provide people with free medical care. My parents approved of him with no reservations. I can't say I was surprised at how quickly they brought him into the fold.
Mitch was so perfect for them. It was a match made in heaven. I could see the visions of sugar plums and big white wedding dresses dancing behind my mother's eyes as she stared down at the ring. She was planning the entire ceremony in her mind. But when she looked up at me and I saw tears glistening in her eyes, I couldn't help but feel guilty. She thought this was a sign that I'd finally recovered and the nightmare that had taken over all of our lives had ended. She wanted it to be over. I'd moved from Texas to get a fresh start and to get away from that oppressive feeling of being wronged. Whenever they used to look at me, they saw someone who'd been damaged, who'd been changed from the inside out. With Mitch by my side, I was just their daughter again. Their daughter who was finally getting married and living the life that they wanted for her.
“I don't like you being so far away,” my mother said in my ear as she hugged me outside of the airport. I watched Mitch and my father awkwardly working together to extract her heavy luggage out of the trunk as my mother clung to me, stroking her hands down my hair. I didn't like the feeling that fluttered through me at her words. “When are you going to come back home?”
“I don't know,” I murmured. “Mitch and I are happy here.”
“How can you be happy here? The sun never shines,” she said, squeezing me so hard that her chunky gemstone necklace pressed uncomfortably into my skin. I didn't move away though. I let her hug me for as long as she wanted to. I wasn't a very good daughter very often. I figured I owed her that. And I appreciated it even though I would be sad when she and my father were gone.
“I like it,” I said blandly because I didn't know what else to say. The truth was that I couldn't leave Seattle. If Elliot was going to come back, he wouldn't know where to find me if I left. And I couldn't go back to Texas. Texas was the last place on Earth I wanted to be.
“Mary, Mary quite contrary,” she said, shaking her head, as she repeated the sing-songy little phrase she'd said since my childhood. “Well you know you can always come home. Me and Daddy will be there waiting.”
“I know.” I felt her grip loosen on me, so I followed suit. I let her pull away and then we both adjusted the purses on our shoulders.
“Did you hear that Mitch?” she said, turning around to address my fiance. “You can come down to Dallas anytime. You're part of the family now and, despite how this one likes to act, we're a very close family.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Vasquez. We'll definitely be taking you up on that offer,” Mitch said, glancing at me and then back to my mother. “Soon.”
“I hope so.” My mother patted my cheek and then held up her hand to get the attention of the airline attendant. Their expensive matching luggage was neatly lined up on the curb, all ready to go. I felt relieved and unsettled at the same time to see them go. It was a childish thing to miss my parents when they left, but I couldn't help it. It never got easier. The attendant came over with a cart and my father and Mitch helped him load it. My mother and I stood there and watched them in silence. When the last piece was going on, I turned to her.
“I want you to help plan the wedding,” I blurted out. I didn't know where it came from, but as soon as the words were out of my mouth, it felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders. “If you have time, that is.” My mother's eyes widened and I could see the total, complete happiness come over her. It was her life's dream, after all – to plan her daughter's lavish, long-awaited wedding. I could already see wedding dresses and cakes and veils and churches in her eyes.
“Of course I have time,” she said, waving a perfectly manicure hand and trying to feign nonchalance. She probably thought if she made too big of a deal about it, I would take it away from her. But the real truth was that I wanted her to plan it. I didn't really care what the wedding would be like. I couldn't picture it. I hadn't had wedding dreams in years. I had no real thoughts on it at all, except that I didn't want to look fat in the photos. I would also have to hide my scars, but I would figure that out when the time came. It would make her happy to have most of the control and it would save my sanity. It was a win win.
Of course, the more power I gave her over my wedding, the more power I gave her over me. Even if it was temporary, it could cause problems. But I tried not to think about that as I hugged my dad awkwardly and then Mitch shook his hand. Then Mitch slid his arm around my waist and pulled me to him as we watched my parents disappear inside the tinted glass doors of the terminal. It was good and bad to see them go. I felt hollow again as a cool breeze cut through my thin jacket. For a second, I had an out of body moment, looking at myself from somewhere else. On the outside it looked like a typical scene – a happy couple saying goodbye to loved ones at the airport. And it was completely normal.
It was moments like that that I realized how not normal I was. I was making myself fit into my new life, but sometimes it the holes showed. Sometimes the truth poked through the thin veneer. I wondered if I would ever stop feeling so empty. I wondered if I would ever have real, deep feelings again. I wondered if I'd ever be truly present in my life again, or would I always be somewhere else, searching for something that I'd had once and lost. As we got in the car and drove back to Mitch's apartment, I didn't have the answer.
I still don't.
Chapter Nine
I drove down the street, cursing myself the whole time. I was stupid, I was stubborn, I was obsessing. But I didn't turn around. I could've turned around and headed back to Dallas so many times but I didn't. I was two seconds away from his house and I still didn't know what the hell I was doing. I'd flown in the day before and I knew I had no business in Austin. My bridal shower was the next day and I should be at home with my mother while she called caterers and florists and finalized guest lists. Instead I was driving around in the middle of Austin chasing a ghost. But then it was too late. Then I was driving past his house and tapping the break to slow down and stare and study everything about it. I almost couldn't believe how different it looked. Before, it was slightly overgrown and nondescript, with cracking paint, a faded, slightly sagging roof, and curtains pulled, shielding the inside from the sunlight.
The house was freshly painted a happy, pale yellow. The front door was a bright shade of aqua. The front windows were shiny and clean. There was a big, family-sized SUV in the driveway. The grass in the front yard is green and recently trimmed. There were flowers – fucking flowers! - planted in a circle around the big old oak tree. All of that was bad enough but I barely noticed it. That was a pale confusion in comparison to what else I saw on the lawn.
There were toys scattered in the grass. A soccer ball, a scooter, a few brightly colored plastic trucks and cars. Most importantly, there was a little boy too, running from one end of the yard to the other lost in his own world. I almost swerved the car when I saw him, but I managed to keep control. I forced my eyes forward and kept driving. At the end of the cul de sac, I turned around and headed back. In those few seconds I had to make a quick decision. I had to decide whether I was going to keep going and leave it all behind, or if I was going to give in to my obsessive curiosity and possibly make a huge mistake. Since I live to torture myself, I pulled up to the curb in front of the house and put the car in park. I stare out the passenger window at the boy, watching him play for a few seconds. It was bizarre, to say the least. I d
idn't know what I was expecting when I decided to go down memory lane, but it wasn't that. It wasn't a happy kid playing on green grass and flower beds. All the tableau in front of me was missing was a golden retriever and a white picket fence.
Part of me was expecting to find it exactly the same.
If I was completely hones with myself, I was hoping that there would be some clues there, some sign of Elliot and where he'd gone. But instead, he's been erased. He already disappeared from my life, but now it's like he's disappeared off the face of the Earth. It's like he was never here, like he was never born. Like all of the shit that went down in his house and in the years after was just a figment of my imagination. I was stupid to come to Austin, I knew it then. But it didn't stop me from getting out of the car because I couldn't stop myself. I slid my purse into the crook of my arm and smoothed my sweaty hands down the front of my jeans. I looked crisp and well-off, which would help my plight. I hoped it would be easy enough to get what I wanted, even though I wasn't necessarily sure what that was yet. I was just so damn curious.
“Hi,” the boy said, looking up at me as I approached him. His cheeks were round and he was missing a front tooth. His eyes were bright and happy and he didn't look the least bit concerned that a complete stranger was standing on his lawn. He had tan skin and curly brown hair and the beautiful innocence in his face was almost instantly painful for me to look at. He didn't know what kind of evil had happened just a few feet from here. He didn't know the history of violence and the debauchery that was just as much a part of this house as the new, cheerful exterior. For a brief moment, as I stared down at him, I hoped he would never know.
“Can I help you?” I glanced up and saw a brown-skinned woman standing at the front door and staring at me intently. She looked friendly enough, just cautious, which was understandable. Seeing a strange woman standing near your son would do that to anyone, I suppose. I put on a smile, not too bright, but just enough and put my hand on my purse like I was nervous and a little flummoxed. It wasn't too far from the truth, but it was also an easy act to put on.
“Hello,” I said, glancing around like I'm not sure I'm in the right place. “This is 45 Cherry Hill Drive, right?” I asked, even though I knew it was. The house numbers, all brand new shiny brass, were posted beside the front door. She nodded slowly, her face still curious but also still friendly. She was just as innocent as her son, I realized. They weren't suspicious of me in the least. At least not yet.
“Yes,” she replied.
“I thought so, but I couldn't quite tell,” I said, pushing my words out quickly to sound nervous. “It looks so much nicer than the I last time I saw it. I barely recognize it.”
“Oh,” she said and smiled and I knew I'd reeled her in. “Did you used to live here?”
“Close to here,” I said, smiling back, wider this time. “I used to know the people that lived in this house, though.” I took a chance and stepped closer to her, moving almost to the porch. I glanced down the block again, like I was feeling nostalgic. Which I was, but not for the reasons she was probably envisioning. “I love the color,” I said, glancing back at her. “Do you know what happened? To the last family that lived here?” I hedged, because I'm getting too anxious. I don't want to spook her, but I also want information. I was dying for information.
“I don't know. I'm sorry.” She leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms. She looked past me to her son, who was already ignoring us again and playing with his trucks in the grass. “It was an estate sale,” she offered, after a minute. “That's all I know.”
“An estate sale,” I murmured to myself. An estate sale meant the owner had died. I couldn't imagine Elliot being dead, so I immediately dismissed that possibility. If he were dead, I would know. I would feel it in my bones, somehow. Or, at least that's what I thought at the time. So he must not have owned the house. I remember him saying that it was the house he'd grown up in, though. So whoever owned the house had raised him. I wonder if he knew that the house had been sold off. I wonder if he'd ever come back here, just like I did, looking for answers or signs of the past. I wonder if he'd been just as weirded out by the changes to the house as I'd been.
“It was a real mess when we got it. A fixer-upper, they called it,” she continued with a small laugh. “It looked like the seventies had thrown up all over the place. In the kitchen especially.”
“Lots of shag carpet,” I replied, thinking back to the way I remembered it. The house had always looked like a relic, like a fading time capsule that someone had forgotten to dig up. The last time I'd seen it, it looked the exact same as when Elliot's family had lived here. For the first time in a long time, I wondered who they were and where they were. I wondered if they were all dead. I wondered why I didn't know more about Elliot and why I'd never really thought to ask. I'd always just assumed that he was alone in the world, adrift in his own asocial tendencies and sadistic fantasies. The thought of someone loving him, of someone kissing his forehead and tucking him into bed at night was incongruous with the way I saw him. I glanced back over my shoulder at the little boy behind me, playing alone in the shadow of the oak tree.
“I have to watch him in the yard,” the woman said. “He likes to ride his scooter up and down the sidewalk. It's a quiet neighborhood, but you can never be too careful.”
“It was always a nice neighborhood,” I said, vaguely. The midcentury subdivision was completely different than the fancy neighborhood I'd grown up in, with its huge new houses and gated entrance. But this was the kind of neighborhood that you saw in movies or what you imagined middle-class American life to be. Ranch matchbox houses set on green lots and shaded by big trees. Maybe that was the kind of life Elliot had wanted for himself. Maybe that was the kind of life he wanted for both of us. “Do you mind if...” I let my words trail off, because I wasn't quite sure if I really wanted what I was about to ask. I wasn't satisfied, though. I hadn't gotten any of the answers I was hoping for. I hadn't gotten any closure.
I still wasn't any closer to Elliot.
“I don't know why I came here,” I said, rushing my words and letting my guard down a bit. I let my vulnerabilities show because I couldn't really stop it at that point. My hands were starting to shake, even though I wanted to stop it. “I was just driving around and I couldn't help myself.” I hold up my hand, flashing my big diamond ring for emphasis. “I'm about to get married and I guess I'm just...” I trailed off and glanced down at her hand. I can't see if she's wearing a ring or not. “Are you married?”
“I am,” the woman said, looking at me with eyebrows raised like I had spouted another head.
“This is a personal question, but did you get cold feet before the wedding?” I asked, rolling my thumb around the cool metal band of the ring. “Did you ever do anything crazy, like go to an old boyfriend's house just because you were freaking out?”
“I can't say I did,” the woman replied with a laugh and I could see her eyes softening again, looking at me with compassion. “But I didn't really have any old boyfriends worth remembering anyway.”
“Oh,” I ran my teeth over my bottom lip. “This one was impossible to forget. Very memorable.” I laughed to myself and she laughed with me, but we were laughing for two different reasons. I was laughing because not being able to forget Elliot was the understatement of the century. Elliot was practically tattooed on my skin; I would never be rid of him or his influence over me. No matter if I married Mitch or not, I had a feeling that would always be true. No matter how much I loved Mitch or how long we were together, I had a feeling it would never be enough. I would never be free.
“You want a glass of water?” the woman asked. “It's hot as Hades out here.” She opened the screen door and looked at me expectantly. I nodded and gave her as bright of a smile as I could muster.
“Yes, please,” I said, my throat suddenly getting tight. I stepped up onto the porch, trying to will my heartbeat to slow as I moved closer to the door. It felt like walking throug
h the gates of hell, if hell had gates. I wanted to go inside, but at the same time I didn't. But I only hesitated for a moment before stepping into the house after her. Cool air conditioned air hit me in the face and the first thing I noticed was that it smelled like home-cooked meals and the walls were white and bright. The dark drapes and wallpaper and carpet were gone. The ancient sofas and chairs and tube television were gone. Again, I could barely believe it was the same house. I glanced at the wall to my left, trying to get my bearings. There was an overstuffed sectional sofa where Elliot's old couch used to sit. If I stared long enough, I could see it there and the room darkened around me, the blue glare of the TV shining against the wall.
Suddenly I was in the past, and I could see it all clear as day. I could see him sitting on the couch, his long legs stretched out and his head cocked to the side. He was naked, of course, his muscular chest highlighted in the blue light. His face was in shadow, but I could see the rope twined around his wrist. As I stared, I could feel my throat close up and it almost felt like the rope was knotted around my neck again, connecting me to him like an animal to its master. I raised my hand and pressed my fingers to the base of my throat, feeling the little scar there. The memories were coming hard and fast. Memories of pain and pleasure. Memories of the way we fucked on that old couch.
“We probably did the most work on the kitchen,” the woman was saying and I took a deep breath and forced myself out of the clutches of the memory. It was hard; I was sweating and my heart was thudding in my chest. There was a dull ringing in my ears. And I could feel the unmistakeable tightening in my stomach that signaled I was turned on. When it came to Elliot, I was like an experiment by Pavlov. Anything that reminded me of him made me turned on.
Love Is Strange (I Know... #2) Page 11
