by Jamie Canosa
“You’re very welcome. As promised.” He handed my cell to me and I turned it on to find no missed calls or messages. The world had continued to turn without me with no major disasters.
“Goodnight, Cal.” I threw open my door and felt his hand close around mine and squeeze before letting go.
“Goodnight, Angel.”
As much as I hated to see it end, I couldn’t imagine a more perfect day. My happiness level was somewhere in the neighborhood of Cloud Nine by the time I entered the building and saw the flash of Caulder’s headlights as he pulled away.
But the thing about floating amongst the clouds is that it makes for an awfully hard landing when you fall.
***
I took a deep breath and released it on a sigh, looking at the stack of bills toppled across the counter.
Welcome back to reality might as well have been stamped across the front of the envelopes.
Several had ring marks staining them. A few had what looked like old crusty peanut butter smeared on them. None of them had been opened.
My fingers clenched around the three new additions I’d pulled from the mailbox on my way in. All labeled final notice. What was I supposed to do with this?
I'd barely processed the question much less an answer to it when the television went black with an audible snap, the lights all went out, and the hum of the fridge died away, leaving me entrenched in darkened silence.
Mom groaned from the couch and slowly rolled up to sitting, pushing her lank hair from her face. “What the hell did you shut that off for? I was watching it.”
Sure she was. "I didn't. Did you pay the electric bill?"
“What electric bill?”
That's what I thought. "The one that's been sitting on this counter for days. The one you were supposed to take care of with your last unemployment check.”
“The grocery bill took up that check.” The grocery bill, AKA Michael's stockpile of beer and liquor. “What about yours?”
“I don’t get paid until next week.” And that was supposed to pay for our food for the next two weeks.
Even if I was somehow able to talk the electric company into reinstating our service until the end of the month, what were we supposed to eat? And what about the rest of the bills? The rent?
“What if . . . Maybe if we need a little help . . .” It was a Hail Mary move. A question I already knew the answer to. We’d struggled to make ends meet for as long as I could remember. People were bound to notice throughout the years. Teachers. Neighbors. Mom had shut down each and every offer of aid with enough venom to ensure the offer was never made twice. “Caulder said . . . I mean, I’m sure Mrs. Parks would—”
“Mrs. Parks?” She spit the woman’s name as though she wished it were aimed directly in her face. “I’m still supposed to be taking parenting advice from that nosey bitch? What does she know? She spouts charity like she’s better than me, and look where it got her. Her kid is dead.”
I gasped at the vulgarity of her candor. She was a master at turning the English language into a weapon. With only a few words, she managed to tear away the bandage covering my raw and tender wound.
“Does this family look like a damn charity case to you?”
This ‘family’ looked like a damn disaster to me, but that’s not what I said. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t get the chance. She wasn’t done.
“You’re so worried about money, why don’t you try getting a job?”
“I have—”
“A real job. I worked my ass off for years. All I see you doing is sitting around on your butt all day.” She reached for an open can on the counter and took a healthy swallow. “Stupid, useless girl. You think you’re so much better than me? Because you have rich friends? Because you spend time in their fancy-ass house? Let them buy you pretty things? You’re nothing. You’re a mistake. You shouldn’t even be here.
“Let me tell you something about the Parks. You are not one of them. They are not your family. That is not your house. And this is not your stuff.”
She lashed out and I braced for an unexpected blow that never came. Instead, her fingers wrapped around the delicate chain dangling from my neck as she executed a maneuver much more painful than any physical strike. The necklace tore free with one harsh tug, snapping the silver clasp.
“You start accepting things like this. His gifts. His money. Mark my words, he’ll start seeing you for what you really are. A little leech. Go ahead. See if I’m wrong. You’re nothing but a selfish, bottom-feeding parasite. A greedy grubber, sucking the life out of everyone around you. How you’ve hidden it this long is beyond me. But you start showing your real colors, see how far he runs. And don’t you dare come crying to me.”
Revulsion curled her lip as she flung the necklace to the floor. I watched in dismay as the angel wing pendant skidded across the cracked tiles. Dropping after it, I gave chase. The shiny silver winked in the glare of the overhead light, sliding beneath the stove before I could reach it.
“Look at you,” she scoffed. “On your hands and knees. Scurrying after the mere crumbs they throw your way.” Her twisted grin warped into a foul expression that squeezed my innards in an iron fist. “Our income isn’t this family’s disgrace. It isn’t some overdue bills, or where we live, or what we have. It’s you. You are our disgrace.”
I felt sick—physically ill—and I knew I wasn’t going to make it to the bathroom. Crawling like the deplorable creature I was to the trash can in the corner, I emptied most of the contents of my stomach inside of its lining. As I was sinking to the cool relief of the floor, a stray upheaval caught me by surprise splattering the side of the can.
My mother didn’t even have enough interest to look disgusted. “Clean that up before you go to bed.”
Turning her back on me as she had so many times when I’d needed her most, she disappeared down the hall.
My eyes burned as badly as my throat as I tracked the path of my treasured gift to where it disappeared from sight. Disgraceful or not, I needed it. Dragging myself across the small room, I jammed my arm in the narrow crevice between the stove and floor until the unforgiving metal squeezed my flesh hard enough to leave bruises. Just when I thought it was beyond my reach, the tips of my fingers brushed over my prize. Carefully, I extracted my arm. Dirt, dust, and decade’s old grease clung to my sleeve.
Sitting back on my ankles, I squeezed it so tightly that the ridges in the wing dug into my palm, but I couldn’t find it. The strength Caulder’s necklace had always given me was gone. Curling forward until my forehead made contact with the floor, I pressed my fist to my mouth in an attempt to muffle my sobs. Not that anyone would have noticed. Or cared.
I felt like a yo-yo, up one minute and then down the next. Bouncing between highs and lows so fast I couldn’t see straight. The highs—moments with Caulder where I could laugh and smile and feel happy—were beautiful while they lasted, but in the end they only made the lows so much harder to bear.
Maybe this was it. Maybe DJ was right all along. Maybe I was just another sewer rat. A sewer rat caught in a trap, struggling to free itself and only causing more damage in the process. Maybe things would be better if I just surrendered to the truth—to reality, my reality—instead of trying to turn my life into some kind of twisted fairytale.
My stomach rolled again and I sealed my lips against the rising tide of nausea. I couldn’t keep doing this. I couldn’t keep fooling myself only long enough to get hurt. It was stupid. And reckless. My heart could only take so much. I needed to put an end to it before it was too late.
Who cared if they called me a rat? Who cared if they thought I was stupid and useless and pathetic? I was. That’s who I was. I was sick of trying to be something more.
I was Jade Carlson, daughter of Marilyn and Michael, resident of Halfmoon Park. I was the grocery hauler, the laundry washer, the trash taker-outer. I was the person who called to beg to have their electric turned back on. The one who constantly overdrew her bank account
and dodged collection calls. I was the girl who ate mac-and-cheese four nights a week and soup the rest. The girl who wore thrift store clothes and holey sneakers. The mistake. That was me. That was all I was.
I was sick and tired of painting pretty pictures to cover all of that up.
I was done pretending.
Done imagining.
I was just done.
Nine
“Jade, honey, it’s so good to see you.” Mrs. Parks embrace was as warm as ever, but there was a hollowness to her voice.
“Mrs. Parks.” I squeezed her tightly and held on longer than I normally would have, trying to sooth the longing in my heart for her. I didn’t bother asking how she was. She’d only tell me pretty lies, and I already knew the truth. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too, sweetie.” She pulled back, but didn’t release me entirely, running her fingers through my hair and studying my face as though she were trying to reacquaint herself. “I’m so sorry I haven’t called. I just . . .”
“It’s okay. I understand.” After all, I hadn’t called, either.
“Well.” Withdrawing, she plastered on a smile more plastic than that of a Barbie doll and rubbed her hands together. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“Starved.”
“Good. When Cal told me you were coming over for dinner, I whipped out some of my best cookbooks and picked the most fattening meal I could find. You look like you’ve lost even more weight since I last saw you. Have you been eating alright?”
I could have asked the same about her. She looked smaller than I remembered. Not just thinner, though she’d definitely lost weight, but tinier. Frailer. She didn’t stand quite as tall. Her presence didn’t fill the room the way it used to.
“I’m okay. But I do miss your cooking.”
“Jade, you’re here.” An unexpected warmth soothed some of my nerves as Caulder strode down the stairs to join us. “Good timing. Mom made chimichangas. My favorite.”
“Of course they are.” Mrs. Parks’ hair swept across her back as she turned to face her son. She wore it down and straight. No curls, no styling. As far as I could tell she wasn’t wearing any makeup, either. Her tone took on a note of teasing, but even that sounded false. “The recipe calls for an entire block of cream cheese and deep frying.”
“What’s not to like about that?” Caulder hooked an arm around my shoulders and escorted me toward the dining room, trailing his mother.
He appeared to be in high spirits, but his tense grip on my shoulder screamed discomfort and the look in his eye questioned if I could feel it, too.
I could.
The entire meal was . . . off. Like a well-rehearsed play. Everyone doing and saying what’s expected of them, but none of it genuine. The conversation fluttered around and I couldn’t get a grasp on it. It was like no one wanted to talk about anything too deep, so we just bounced from one superficial topic to the next with short, awkward pauses between. I watched Caulder take it all in stride and wondered if this was what it had been like for him for months.
A part of me ached for him. And for Kiernan. His family was falling apart. It would destroy him if he could see them this way. I wished I could be the one to put it back together—for all of them—but my decision was made. It was time to stop torturing myself with delusions of grandeur.
I wasn’t their savior. And they weren’t mine. I was eighteen. It was time to stop believing in children’s tales. There was no Prince Charming. No Fairy Godmother, waiting to grant my wishes and come to my rescue. I’d come today because I’d made a promise to be there. And because I needed a chance to say goodbye. But this was it. This was the end of my fairytale.
There was a sort of comfort to be found in surrender. In choosing to give up the fight rather than be defeated. And that’s exactly where I was headed, straight into defeat. I couldn’t keep this up, this dual life. This charade. This lying. To Caulder. To Mrs. Parks. To myself. I didn’t want to.
“Stay right there. We have something else.” Mrs. Parks reentered with a fresh stack of plates and forks, which she set on the table
“Something else?” To eat? I didn’t think I could possibly fit one more bite. I’d explode.
“I know we’re a little late, but . . .” She slipped into the kitchen where I heard the banging of cabinets.
Caulder loitered in the corner where he was doing a terrible job of hiding the mischievous smile curving his lips. My stomach knotted. They were up to something. Something completely wonderful. And it was bound to gut me.
He flipped the lights off just as his mother returned and suddenly the room was lit only by the tiny candles dancing on top of the two tier cake she carried. “Happy birthday to you . . .”
Caulder joined in as they drew closer to the table and slid the cake in front of me. I couldn’t breathe. I just sat there, staring at it long after the chorus ended.
“You have to blow them out or we’ll all be eating wax,” Caulder informed me.
Sucking in a staggered breath, I blew gently. A few candles went out while the rest fluttered and remained lit. I tried again and this time managed to extinguish them all.
Mrs. Parks turned the lights back on and I had no choice but to let a few tears fall before I could see clearly the piece of edible artwork laid out before me. It was amazing. Painted in light blue icing, it had swirled white borders and an image printed across the top.
I recognized it immediately. Taken last year at Christmastime, all of their smiling faces beamed up at me. Caulder and Mrs. Parks. And Kiernan. And my mother.
I pinched my leg in a desperate attempt to keep from crying. Not only had they remembered and gone out of their way to celebrate, but they’d found a way to include everyone I loved. My heart swelled for more than just the cake and the time and the thought that went into it. These people knew me. This amazingly wonderful family knew me better than anyone else on Earth. And still they accepted me. Loved me.
“It was a couple weeks ago, right?” Caulder drew up beside my chair, watching me closely. “I’m sorry we missed it.”
“No.” Swiping at my cheeks, I took a deep breath to try and compose myself. “No, I . . . I’ve never . . .” Sealing my lips, I was suddenly uncertain I wanted to share that sad fact about my life.
I didn’t have to. Caulder did it for me. “You’ve never had a birthday cake.”
The surprise was gone from his tone, unlike at the pool. He was getting to know me well enough that I doubted much would surprise him anymore.
Except for maybe the truth.
“Not even this year?” I understood Mrs. Parks’ confusion. She wanted to blame my mother’s poor parenting on lack of sobriety, but as far as she knew this last birthday had passed with perfect abstinence.
I didn’t want to burst that bubble. “We had . . . ice cream.”
In truth, I couldn’t remember what I’d had because I hadn’t even realized it was my birthday until a few days after when I happened to notice the date on the work schedule. Michael had just popped up out of the blue and things were a little bit crazy. They still were.
“Well there’s no better cake than birthday cake.” Mrs. Parks’ smile looked strange, as though she’d forgotten how and was trying to relearn. “Here, you make the first cut. It’s good luck.”
My hands shook as I lifted the large knife. How could I do this? How could I cut out the only good part of my life? It felt like I was taking that blade and sinking it deep into my own heart.
But wasn’t that what I was doing every time I let them in? Lining up the knife only to fall on it the moment they were gone again? What kind of masochist did that voluntarily over and over again to themselves? Wasn’t it better to just cut them off once and be done with it?
It would make my life a lot less confusing. If I survived. The question was, was I strong enough to go through with what very well might turn out to be a fatal plunge?
The burn of suppressed tears lit behind my eyes as I lowered the kni
fe. It slid through the decorative icing easily enough, but stuck in the cake. Applying more pressure, I felt a crunch and blackened crumbs tumbled out.
“Oh, dear” Mrs. Parks claimed the knife and sliced away a chunk of cake. “Oh no. I don’t know what happened.”
On the outside, the cake was stunning: bright, happy colors, pretty pictures, smiling faces. But on the inside, it was charred and destroyed. The perfect representation of my entire life. And it hit me like a punch to the throat.
“I had to order it from the bakery because I couldn’t print the picture here. They must have overcooked it.” Mrs. Parks continued to fuss over the burnt pastry, but I could barely hear her.
I gasped, the flood of unexpected emotion clogging my airway. I couldn’t be there. Couldn’t do this. I was too close to the edge. Too close to falling over it. To giving in to my most selfish desires.
The chair screech as I shoved it back from the table, stumbling out of the room. I was losing control. I needed to get out of there. Find somewhere to lock it down. Hold it together.
Caulder didn’t give me that. “Jade?”
“Leave me alone.”
He didn’t. He followed me straight down the hallway and right out the front door. I needed the fresh air. Needed to breathe. I needed a minute. Just one minute to—
“Jade!”
“Leave me alone, Cal. Please. Just for a minute.”
“No. I’m not leaving you anywhere. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Frantic, shallow breaths were starting to make me lightheaded. I needed to sit down. I needed to think. I needed—
“Talk to me.”
I couldn’t. I couldn’t think or breathe or see straight with him standing so close.
I couldn’t hide.
“Just go away! I don’t want to talk.”
“If this is about the cake—”
“I don’t give a crap about the cake, Caulder. I didn’t ask for the goddamn cake! I didn’t ask for you! Or your mother! Or your friggin’ help! I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t—” My hand flew to my mouth as shame stained my cheeks. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry, Cal. I didn’t mean—”
