Learning to Live

by Jerrica Knight-Catania

  “I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say. “Is there something I’m missing?”

  Caroline looks back and forth between Brandon and me like she’s at a tennis match. “Wait. Are you serious? You’re not here to lecture me on the dangers of smoking or how I should be careful not to get mixed up in the wrong crowd?”

  “Well, smoking is gross,” I say. “And as for getting mixed up in the wrong crowd…”I look her up and down. “I’m pretty sure you are the wrong crowd. No doubt there are parents all over town lecturing their kids about staying away from you.”

  Somehow, this earns me a smile. From Caroline, at least. Brandon looks a little shell-shocked.

  “So, what the hell are you doing here?” she finally asks, after schooling her features back to surly and angry.

  “Language, Caroline,” Brandon growls.

  “Actually, I have kind of a weird request,” I say, praying this will work.

  “Go on.” At least she seems intrigued.

  “Well, I have this cookbook, actually. But the recipes are all hand written, and they’re kind of hard to read.”

  Caroline shrugs. “So?”

  “So…” I lean forward. “While I don’t condone smoking, I do think you should at least pay for your cigs with your own money and not your brother’s.”

  She gets a little shifty and her eyes dart from her brother to the table before she looks back up at me. But she doesn’t say anything. Just waits, with arms crossed over her chest, for me to go on.

  “I can pay you seven bucks an hour, and all you have to do is type the recipes out for me.”

  She clenches her jaw in the same way her brother did, and says, “Ten dollars an hour.”

  “Eight.”

  “Nine.”

  “Eight fifty. Final offer.”

  She rolls her eyes, clearly not happy about me getting the last word, but finally says, “Fine.”

  “Great,” I say, and it comes out all chipper, but inside I’m actually a little panicky all of a sudden. Am I really going to trust this girl with Kyle’s recipe book? Oh, God. What have I done?

  “When do I start?” she asks.

  “Whenever you want.”

  “Okay.” She shrugs her black-clad shoulders. “Just bring them over whenever then.”

  “Actually…”

  She’s on her way out the door but she stops to look at me.

  “I’d like you to come to my house to do it. You can use my computer. I won’t get in your way, it’s just…” I swallow the tears back. Damn it. “The book is kind of special.”

  She shrugs again. “Okay, whatever. See ya later.”

  I stare after her, hoping I’ve made the right decision to let her do this.

  “Cigarette money?”

  Shit. I knew he wouldn’t be happy about that.

  “Sorry,” I say, hoping my remorse is written all over my face. “I didn’t know what else to say.”

  “Well, at least I’ll know where she is for a while. You’ll let me know how much you pay her so I can reimburse you, all right?”

  It was what we had agreed on, but I still don’t feel great about it. It feels sneaky. But I don’t have the money to pay her, and besides, it’s not even a real job. It’s all a ruse to help Brandon keep better tabs on her.

  “Yeah, sure,” I finally agree.

  “More coffee?” he asks.

  I’m tempted to stay, which, of course, triggers my guilt. “I’ve gotta get going.”

  He nods. “I understand. We’re still on for tomorrow night, right?”

  Tomorrow night. The work party. I take a deep breath. “Yup,” I say, and I know I sound way too enthusiastic. I’m trying to make up for the fact that I’m not enthusiastic at all. “I’m heading to the mall with Mom in a bit to get something to wear.”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “It’s not that big of a deal. I’m sure you have something lovely in your closet to wear.”

  I shake my head. “No, I don’t.” I’ve lost so much weight since Kyle died—none of my old clothes fit me anymore.

  “Suit yourself.”

  I smile. “I will.”

  I used to love shopping with my mom. It was a special bonding time, during which we would gossip about Dad or the neighbors or my school friends, get our nails done, try on outfits we’d never wear in public and eat lunch at the Chinese place in the food court.

  Things aren’t quite so lighthearted anymore. It’s mostly my fault. Mom’s doing her best to tone down her cheeriness, but I know she feels just as sad as I do that we’re not having the same kind of fun we used to.

  I emerge from the dressing room, decked out in a Kelly green shirtdress, with buttons that go all the way down and a belt that buckles around my waist.

  “So? What do you think?” I ask, arms outstretched.

  Mom wrinkles her nose for the hundredth time today. Damn it. I thought it looked good in the mirror. What’s her problem?

  “Not my favorite,” she says.

  “Any reason?”

  She sighs as she looks me over. “I don’t know…maybe it’s just too old.”

  “Well, I am twenty, Mom. I’m getting up there. Shouldn’t I dress my age?”

  “Don’t be cheeky,” she returns, picking up on my sarcasm. “I just don’t think it’s it. What kind of party is this anyway?”

  “I already told you—a work party.”

  “Yes, but what kind of work party? There are different kinds of parties, you know.”

  I do know, but I hadn’t even thought about it. “Um, he didn’t say.”

  “Well, we’ll just have to call him then.”

  Mom whips her little flip phone out of her purse. She’s so proud of it, and that she knows how to dial and everything. Dad bought it for her for Christmas and she’s obsessed.

  I, however, am starting to feel really embarrassed. I shouldn’t. I mean, Brandon is just a friend, and this is a perfectly reasonable question to ask, but still, I can’t help wishing I was one of those girls who always knew exactly what to wear even if she didn’t know what kind of party she was going to.

  “Brandon, it’s Mrs. Brooks,” Mom says into her phone. “I’m good, honey, but I have a quick question. I’m at the mall with Jess, and we have no idea what kind of outfit to get her for tomorrow night. Can you enlighten us a little on the vibe of the party?”

  Mom winks at me, probably because she used “enlighten” and “vibe” in the same sentence. Connecting with her inner hippie, maybe?

  “Uh-huh…okay…well, thanks, sweetheart. And you know, you and Caroline are welcome to join us for dinner tonight. I’m making lasagna.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “All righty, then. Talk soon.”

  She hangs up and looks up at me. “They’re busy tonight, which I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear,” she says. I guess she saw my eye roll. “As for the party…he says business casual.”

  What does that even mean? Is it business or is it casual? “Okay, so…”

  “I know!” Mom hops up from the tufted stool. “New York and Company. We’ll find a nice sweater and a pair of pants…it’ll be perfect.”

  I trudge after Mom through the mall, and gladly accept a pretzel sample from Auntie Anne’s as we pass by. It’s the cinnamon sugar kind, and it reminds me of the cinnamon sugar toast Kyle use to make for us in the mornings. But despite my slightly elevated heart rate and the need for a deep breath, I realize I’m okay. Sort of. Maybe it’s being out and about for the first time in a long time, but I definitely feel…better.

  “You okay?” Mom asks as we walk side-by-side toward the store.

  “Yeah, fine,” I reply. “Good pretzel. I was just savoring it.”

  She doesn’t say anything, but I can tell she’s trying to hide a smile.

  The rest of our shopping trip goes by quickly. I find a semi-dressy button-down top to wear under a soft, turquoise sweater, and a pair of comfy dress pants. The kind that fit snuggly at the wai
st, but have big, roomy legs. I like the look. It’s a lot different from my usual uniform of sweats and pajamas.

  I think briefly that Kyle would love this outfit, and it strikes me hard that he’ll never get to see it.

  Damn it, why do I do that? I’ve spent all this time mourning him, you’d think I’d remember that he’s gone.

  “Jess, are you coming out?” Mom asks from the other side of the dressing room.

  I suck in a deep breath, trying to pull myself together and emerge for her to see the outfit. She lets out a gasp.

  “Oh, honey, it’s perfect.” She walks toward me and fidgets with the collar of the shirt. It’s annoying so I shrug her off.

  “You like it?” I turn this way and that in front of the mirror, admiring the way I look in this new, structured ensemble.

  “Didn’t I just say it was perfect? And you know what, everything is buy-one-get-one-half-off, so let’s get it in other colors.”

  Clearly, my mother thinks that the best way to help me get over my loss is by buying me an entire new wardrobe. We can barely get the bags to the car, but I’m not going to complain. As a matter of fact, I’m almost ready to admit to myself that it feels good to return to the human race. I’m not ready to admit it to anyone else, but I figure it’s most important to admit it to me.

  When we pull into the driveway at home, Mom starts to get out of the car, but I put a hand on her arm to stop her. She stares back at me, her eyes wide with curiosity.

  “Everything okay?” she asks.

  “Yeah, I just…” Deep breath. “I just wanted to say…thank you.”

  I don’t say for what, and she doesn’t ask me to clarify. She knows. That’s what moms are for, right? She simply smiles an all-knowing smile and says, “Don’t mention it,” before hopping out of the car.

  SEVEN

  For the first time in months, I actually shave my legs, blow out my hair and put on makeup. It feels weird. I look weird. Well, not weird, per se. I kind of look amazing—like the old me. Just a little thinner; my eyes are a little sadder. But not as sad as they were before. Somehow it feels like things are getting better. Part of me doesn’t want them too, because if they do—if I allow things to get better—I might forget him.

  But I have to admit that there’s a bigger part of me now that does want things to get better. I want to feel good again. Happy. Carefree.

  It crosses my mind for the hundredth time that maybe I should join one of those 9-11 support groups. I know I’m not the only one who lost someone that day. Kyle was one of thousands…

  My stomach clenches and I look in the mirror again to see worried eyes and a furrowed brow. This isn’t what I should be thinking about tonight. I have a non-date to go on, and if I’m being honest, I’m really excited about it.

  The usual stab of guilt accosts my stomach, but I push it away. I have to if I have any hope of emerging from this despair. Kyle wouldn’t want me to be unhappy. I know that. But it doesn’t make it any easier.

  The doorbell rings faintly from downstairs and it immediately sets the butterflies to flapping in my stomach. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s just Brandon. Nerdy Brandon from high school. And it’s not a date.

  I grab my new purse—another NY&Co purchase that Mom insisted I have—and head out my bedroom door. Brandon is standing in the foyer with Mom and Dad, and I’m halfway down the stairs when he notices me. I’m not gonna lie. The way he looks at me—the way his breath seems to catch in his throat—makes me feel good for the first time in a very long time. It makes me feel proud that I pulled myself together enough to get dressed and gussied up for this party. It makes me happy that I finally said yes to something that scares the shit out of me.

  “Hey,” he breathes as I descend the last half of the staircase.

  I give him a half smile. “Hey.”

  Mom and Dad seem a little stunned too. Mom just stands there with a goofy smile and watery eyes; Dad’s peering at me as if I’m an enigma. It’s worthy of a laugh, but I hold back. I would rather pretend that there’s nothing new or unusual going on here.

  Brandon seems to snap out of his trance finally, and claps his hands together. “You ready to do this?”

  I shrug. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  He turns to Dad. “I’ll have her home at a descent hour, sir.”

  Mom throws her head back and laughs. “Oh, Brandon. We’re all adults here. Keep her out as late as you want.”

  She says that, but I know she and Dad won’t go to sleep until they hear me come home.

  “I’ll call if it’s gonna be past midnight, Mom.”

  She grabs me and pulls me into a suffocating hug. As uncomfortable as it is, I’m happy she’s happy.

  “Goodnight, you two,” Dad says. “Have fun!”

  And the next thing I know I’m on the front stoop with Brandon, alone, and it feels way more like a date than it’s supposed to. But I can’t back out now. I can’t go back in there and destroy my parents’ hopes that their little girl is finally moving on.

  Deep breath. I can do this.

  We walk silently through the chilly air to the car and he opens the door for me. I don’t get in. I just stare at him, and he must see how uncomfortable his actions make me, because he shuts the door again.

  “Sorry,” he says, raising his hands in surrender as he walks to the other side of the car. “Once a southern boy…”

  I snort. “You’re hardly the typical southern boy,” I say, opening my own door and sliding into the passenger seat. “You drive a Prius, for God’s sake.”

  He starts the ignition, but you’d never know, it’s so quiet.

  “I was one of the first to have one in the US.” He grins proudly. “Pretty cool, huh?”

  “I had no idea you were such a car enthusiast.”

  “I’m not.” He pulls out of the driveway and heads out of the neighborhood toward the main road. “I’m just enthusiastic about this car. Her name is Nelly.”

  “Original,” I tease.

  “What would you have named her?”

  I shrug. “Priscilla?”

  He scrunches his nose. “She would hate that.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “And how do you know that? Am I to believe you have conversations with your car?”

  “Of course I do!” He seems affronted that I would even ask such a question, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes when he turns to smile at me.

  My stomach flips. I hate that his smile is able to disarm me. I don’t want to be disarmed. I want to remember…

  “So, where is this party?” I ask, desperate to change the subject and put an end to what I’m terrified might be flirting.

  “We’ve rented out the party room at Ippolito’s.”

  A suburban staple around here. I haven’t eaten there in ages, but I can taste their sauce on my tongue. The big, yeasty rolls drenched in garlic and olive oil. The salad covered in Gorgonzola cheese and a tangy vinaigrette. I took Kyle there once when we’d come to visit my parents. He’d accused it of being heavy and way too obvious (whatever that meant), but he’d scarfed his meal down, nonetheless.

  I turn my face to look out the window. “Sounds good,” I say, trying to shove my memories to the back of mind. “How’s Caroline?”

  “Caroline is…Caroline,” he says. “Hey, thanks again for helping me out with her. I don’t know if I’ve really thanked you properly.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. We don’t know if it’s gonna work.”

  He chuckles. “Good point.” He goes silent as he turns into the parking lot of the restaurant. Once he’s pulled into a parking space, he turns to me. His hazel eyes are so intense, and the setting so intimate, I have to turn away. “Listen, I know this won’t be an easy night for you.”

  I fiddle with a button on my pea coat. “Don’t worry about me,” I say, trying to shrug it off. I don’t want to make a huge deal out of this.

  “I won’t if you don’t want me to.” His voice is so soft,
so understanding. I know he understands. He’s been through this too. But I’m not ready to rely on him for comfort. I might never be. And I certainly don’t want to be. “But listen, if you feel uncomfortable at any time, or—”

  I fake a smile and force myself to look at him. “I’ll be fine. Really.”

  “But you’ll tell me if you’re not?” I don’t answer him, so he goes on. “I know how this goes, Jess. You might feel fine right now, but these things can sneak up on us.” He sighs and sits back in his seat, his eyes straight ahead out the window.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, and my smile is turning softer, more genuine. He seems troubled all of a sudden, and I want to help.

  “It doesn’t go away, you know?” His cheek pulls in, and I know he’s biting down inside. “I know you want it to, but it won’t.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. I do want it to go away. All the hurt, the sadness, the emptiness. I’m still praying that one day I’ll wake up and it will have magically disappeared.

  He shakes his head after a long moment and gives a little laugh. “God, I’m so sorry. This night is supposed to be fun, and here I am getting all moody and existential on you.”

  “It’s okay,” I return. “I’m always moody and existential these days. It’s nothing new.”

  He’s about to say something else when a woman leans down next to his window and taps on the glass. She’s got flowing red hair that’s blowing in the wintry wind, and she’s holding her bright red coat together in front of her chest. When she smiles and waves, Brandon’s eyes light up and he beams right back at her. Then he opens the door and gets out of the car. He’s expecting me to do the same, but part of me is bummed he’s not coming around to get me. As a matter of fact, he seems to have forgotten all about me as he gives the redhead a big hug and an air kiss near her cheek.

  I come around the front of the car, and they’re already deep in conversation about something that happened at the office earlier that day.

  “Oh, Carly,” he says, looking at me as if he’s just remembered he brought me along. “This is Jessica. Jessica, Carly. She’s my assistant.” He puts an arm at Carly’s back. “I would seriously be lost without her.”