It was only once our taxi had pulled over in front of my building that I spoke. Holding the door open, pleading with me once again to say something, to please forgive him, that he would make it up to me, finally, Clark asked me “Kristin, will you ever forgive me?”
I stared into his dark eyes—the same eyes that had apparently been upset the night of the prom, the same man who had disappointed me once again—and I said, “I don’t know”, because, really, I didn’t.
And then I was walking into my building and into the elevator, returning home once again. Back with my unimpressed cats, who hadn’t touched the food I’d left them, back with my phone (with five new messages from Veronica and more tabloid reporters most likely) and my sad little life.
I sank into my bed and put the covers over my head. With this latest disappointment, I didn’t even want to think about what I was going to do with all the money Clark had sent me. No, I just wanted to forget I had ever met Clark and his lying, closed-off self.
I spent the next week avoiding Clark’s calls. Although I did listen to his messages, to every one of his “I’m so sorry. I swear I’ll make it up to you. I swear I’ll make this right” messages. Until, finally, when I actually heard his voice waver, I gave in; I picked up the next time he called.
“Kristin!” he said as soon as I answered, “You picked up. Oh, thank God you picked up.”
I smiled in spite of myself, and then frowned once again.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t hang up.”
“Because I want to see you again. I need to see you. I want to take you out on dates. I want to see you again, not just again, I want to see you every day. I swear to you, anything you want, I’ll do it. To make up for it. We can go back to Cancun, we can go anywhere, do anything that you want.”
Just then, another incoming call popped up. Veronica.
I hit the ignore button, suddenly knowing what would, maybe, make up for it.
“Come with me to a family dinner.”
“Okay, of course,” Clark said immediately, his eagerness audible, “Just tell me when.”
“Okay,” I said, trying to keep my own eagerness out of my voice, “I’ll text you.” And then, I hung up.
As I sat there, I tried to stop the smile working its way onto my face. Already triumphant images of the family dinner, with Clark and I at the head of the table while my Mom, Dad and siblings barraged us with questions, were seeping into my mind.
I called my mom and braced myself for the worst, but the conversation went better than expected; she was worried, clearly, but didn’t share Veronica’s over-the-top sentiments about how I had disgraced the family and so on (as conveyed in one of her latest vicious texts). She agreed to a dinner at New Moon Café that night, and assured me that the whole family would be there. When I mentioned Clark, however, she went silent. After a minute, she finally said “But honey, are you sure?”
“Yes, Mom,” I said, finding that smile back on my face once more, “Yes, I am sure.”
I hung up still smiling. Because I was sure this time. Clark wouldn’t dare disappoint me again. Not if he cared about me. And he did, I knew he did; it was in his extended looks on me when he thought I didn’t notice, it was in how I just had to half-smile for him to full-out grin. He cared about me, I know he did.
I had to find something to wear, but first, I had to text Clark: 6 pm, at New Moon Café.
Immediately, the response came back: I’ll be there.
Then, I began to get ready. A chipper rock playlist was my soundtrack, vanilla was the scent, and blue was the theme of the night’s preparations. I chose a nice blue dress, one with a choker neck and a full skirt. My eye shadow I made a deep grey, which I paired with a light pink lip. Then, some fresh water for the cats, a quick pack of my overnight bag and I was ready to go.
Outside, it was so warm and sunny that I decided to walk there. I wanted to enjoy this feeling. This eager anticipation, happy expectation.
I could almost see their faces now: Mom and Dad’s happily pleased with my recent success—in money and in love. Veronica’s would be curled and snarled with jealousy, Bill and Diana’s suffused with shared happiness with me. And, most of all, Clark’s jubilant face, his hand in mine, his ecstatic gaze on me, happy, so happy, to be a part of this meal, to be there beside me, to be with me, that I had given him a second chance at all. Really, it’s a third chance this time, a disgruntled voice in my head reminded me, but I ignored it. Clark was going to come tonight, make things right, and everything was going to be perfect. Tonight was going to be perfect, I could tell.
The café was only a fifteen-minute walk from my apartment, and all around me, there were bright blooming flowers and blue sky as far as the eye could see. Traffic was scarce, and the birds were warbling out pretty tunes; the whole world was celebrating with me.
When I stepped onto the porch of the café, a cold gust of wind slapped me in the face. I shivered. What if Clark didn’t come? But then I took out my phone, read his message again, his I’ll be there, and I knew, he was coming. He had to.
I was five minutes late, but my whole family was there, waiting at a table outside. Seeing me come in alone, their faces grew worried, though I smiled wide.
“Clark’s just late. He is the CEO, so he has a crazy amount of work.”
Mom and Dad nodded, although I could tell they didn’t believe me.
As soon as I sat down, our waitress buzzed over. “Well, hullo, hullo. Now that everyone’s here, would y’all care to order?”
I shook my head.
“Not yet, thanks. We’re just waiting for someone.”
She nodded her strawberry-blonde-pigtailed head.
“Drinks then?”
“Just water for now, thanks.”
And then, she was gone, and I was once again left with my family’s stares. Billy and Diana shifted nervously in their seats, while Veronica looked like she had just won the lottery.
“So, dear,” Mom said, trying to smile, “How are the cats?”
“Oh, you know,” I said, “The usual. They love each other, but can’t stand me. What can I say.” I tried to laugh, but it came out strained and unnatural-sounding. Checking my phone revealed that it was now 6:11 and Clark hadn’t texted me.
“Here,” I said to the table, “I’ll just text him now.” Once again, my voice came out so awkward-sounding that I wondered who I was trying to convince—them or myself.
As soon as I’d sent the Where are you? text to Clark, my mind started hissing with doubts of its own: How could you ever have expected him to come, after what happened last time? How could you ever have been so stupid?
“So, Billy,” I said, turning to my brother who was poking the ice in his cup with his straw. “How are Kiana and Kyle?”
At the mention of his tubby two-year old twins, my brother’s lowered eyes brightened.
“Oh, they’re great, just great. Blabbering all the time and sleeping better than ever. And Rain’s just the best, I love her more every…” He fell silent, lowering his eyes again, as if the mention of his happy love was an insult to me.
“That’s great!” I said with a determined smile. I checked my phone. It was 6:17 and still, no text from Clark. I was beginning to feel a vague twist of anguish in my stomach, a rumbling of déjà-vu. I’d experienced this before.
I shoved my phone in my pocket and smiled determinedly at my family. Clark would come. He had to.
“So, Kristin,” Veronica said in a patronizing tone, the way you talk to a three-year-old, “Are you sure Clark said he’d be able to make it.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” I snapped back. Of course, at this very opportune moment our waitress decided to make her reappearance, sweeping my water in front of me with a pert, “So y’all are ready now?”
Everyone glanced at me and I sunk into my seat, murmured “Sure.”
Everyone ordered, while I stared at my phone, at the time, ticking from 6:21 to 6:22 to…
“Kristin?”
It was Veronica, sneering at me with a faux-kindness.
“Want us to order for you?”
I shook my head, avoided her jeering gaze.
“No, I’ll wait.”
“You sure?” she asked and I said nothing. Then, the waitress was gone and I was on the phone, calling him—the jerk, the liar, the idiot—no, I was the idiot.
He picked up on the fourth ring.
“Kristin I’m so sorry.”
“Are you coming?”
Silence.
“Are you coming, Clark? Tell me right now, are you coming?”
Silence, then, “No.”
I ended the call and then stood up. My family had heard everything; no one was meeting my furious gaze. Tears were prickling at my eyes; I had seconds before they fell.
“He’s not coming,” I told them, before I turned on my heel and left. I could hear them calling after me, so I didn’t walk, I ran. I ran out of the restaurant, full of the people who were staring, who probably knew me, recognized me, knew what was happening even now. My latest embarrassment, my most recent making a fool of myself.
I couldn’t take it.
I ran through the parking lot and down the street, reflecting dully that once again history was repeating itself, and that I should have learned my lesson the first time. As my legs ached and my eyes poured, I cursed myself. For believing him again and again. For opening my heart enough to be hurt again.
As I ran, I scanned through my phone until I found his number. I deleted it, then blocked him. Then, I made a promise to myself: never would I forgive him. This time, this was too much. Never would I forgive him for this.
Chapter Fourteen
Clark
I woke up at dawn. That was when the workday begun. When did it end? When my head hit the pillow, that was when. That was the price of success. That was the price of this life I led.
I reminded myself of this as I ate my breakfast in the car that was taking me to my office. Today was the same as all the other days, the days since her. I would be productive, complete each task, go to sleep with the help of a few pills. Wake up, work, sleep then repeat.
Today, Carla was on the phone.
“It’s your brother,” she said and I went to my office to pick it up.
“Clark, it’s Eugene,” he said. He paused.
“Yes?”
“I’m outside, come meet me.”
I glanced at the window. It was sunny out, but I really wasn’t in the mood for another one of the biannual familial reprimands.
“I’m afraid I’m terribly busy, Eugene. Can’t get away, little brother.”
“Okay, I’ll come up,” he said and then hung up.
I glared at the phone, then, with a sigh, I leaned back in my chair with my hands behind my head. What could be up with Eugene? He’d never demanded his way into my office before. In fact, I hadn’t spoken to him at all in months. A knock on the door, then Eugene was inside my office.
“Shut the door behind you, please,” I said and he did so. Whatever the hugely big deal was, I didn’t want Carla taking notes to use against me when I finally got around to firing her.
“I know,” Eugene said, striding up and stopping at my desk. I couldn’t make out what kind of expression he had on his face. “Clark, I know,” he said, more forcibly this time.
I stared at him evenly.
“You know what?”
“I know what you did for that girl.”
I chuckled, and then cocked a brow at him.
“Which girl?”
“Kristin Blair.”
My smirk fell and I turned my chair so that it was facing the window. It had been two months since my last conversation with her; two months since she’d blocked me from her life.
“What do you know?”
“I know that you gave her a million dollars and went out with her for a few dates. I know that you messed up again, missed her family dinner. And I know that you’ve regretted it ever since.”
I addressed my answer to the impassive rectangles of buildings outside.
“You don’t know anything.”
Now, it was Eugene’s turn to laugh, a jarring, high-pitched sound. I could almost see his wide nose scrunched up with it.
“Clark, I saw you.”
I wheeled around to rise and face him head-on.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“That night, at prom, I saw you. How you came home all hollowed-out like. How you spent weeks in your room, made the family phone bill astronomical because you were nonstop calling a certain girl who wouldn’t answer, how you snuck out with the family car to try and get her to see you. I remember, Clark. I saw you.” His face was defiant, insistent, but I only shrugged.
“That was a long time ago.”
Eugene shook his head.
“That was a long time ago, but I saw what it did to you. How you threw yourself into the work even more, how you haven’t let anything come between you and it since. No, not since…”
I strode over to the door, ripped it open.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Eugene. I don’t know what you heard—”
“I talked to Billy.”
“I don’t care. You can leave now. I don’t have time for this.” But Eugene didn’t budge.
“I don’t care either. I’m going to say what I came here to say. And what I came to say, Clark, is that I’ve been quiet—we all have—as you’ve slipped further and further away from us, as you’ve thrown yourself into work so deeply, we’re lucky if we get a text every six months. But not for this girl—this woman. She’s different and you know it. I’m not going to sit here and say nothing while you mess this up too, Clark. You probably already have, who knows. But I just wanted to say, that me, that none of us agree with this, with you using work to avoid feeling, with you pushing everyone else away.”
Now, Eugene strode up to me, staring into my face, his bulging eyes insistent. I didn’t meet his gaze. His words were stupid, ridiculous, clasping at me with sticky hands and pathetic grasping fingers. I wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t answer him—couldn’t.
“Just think about it,” Eugene said before he strode away.
I slammed the door behind him and stormed back to my chair. Too bad Eugene had come for nothing. Because I wasn’t going to think about it. Not for a second.
I opened my laptop to the article on a Sacramento news site that had caught my eye: Local IT Whiz Makes It Big, with a picture of Kristin smiling oh-so-happily underneath. My gaze hovered over her beautiful face and then, slowly, I closed my laptop.
I had an idea.
Chapter Fifteen
Kristin
Three months wasn’t so long when you thought about it. That’s what I told myself as I woke up after once again dreaming of stupid Clark Denton. Him, pinning me to the bed, kissing me, touching me. And to think I had thought the dreams had stopped.
Shaking myself, I rose to find Romeo and Juliet sitting on the end of my bed in the exact same position, staring at me as if they were deliberating whether I would make a good meal nor not.
I went to their food bowls to find them empty. This was less-than-surprising. Both had simultaneously, at some point in the last two months, decided to get fat; no matter how much food I piled into their little smiley-faced bowl, they gobbled it down in record time. The funniest part was that they were growing fat perfectly in sync, their cuddling lick-fests apparently only enhanced by the extra rolls.
After I had doled out more food for them, I opened the fridge to get some food for myself. Inside was a big slice of cake from Harmony’s birthday party the day before. I stared at it for a good minute before I reasoned that if dreaming about the man who had broken your heart and humiliated you didn’t warrant a nice big piece of chocolate cake, nothing did.
I opened the window and sat down in my old favorite spot, cake in hand. I gazed over the trees and reflected over the past few months. Really,
I shouldn’t feel all that bad about my dreams about Clark; it wasn’t as though I could control them. And, when you looked at what I could control, what I had accomplished over the past few months, it was nothing less than astounding.
Three months ago, I had been broken, dejected, betrayed, and ruined. Three months ago, I had lost all hope and still, I had gotten back up. Still, I had kept on trying. And it had paid off. I had built my own IT business, started volunteering for the local homeless shelter, and successfully avoided getting back in touch with Clark or Veronica despite their repeated attempts. Veronica’s attempts at reaching out had involved family manipulation, while Clark’s had consisted of constant calls from different phone numbers, as well as driving by my apartment building repeatedly. And, despite the pang in my heart whenever I heard that familiar voice on the other line or saw that familiar red sports car, I had stayed strong. I blocked each new number, and began to leave my building by the back entrance. And I had gotten on with my life.
I finished my cake and took one last breath of fresh air, then hopped off the window and returned to my laptop. It was Saturday, but I liked to get my emails over with before I set off for the day. A quick scan of my inbox revealed something from my old high school. Attention, Class of 2007, the subject line read.
I clicked on it and read it through:
Grass Valley High School would like to welcome back all students of its graduating class of 2007 for a reunion. Food, drinks and music will be provided. Many of the former staff will be present. We hope to see you there!
I moved the cursor over to the delete button, but couldn’t quite click it.
Why should I go? I asked myself. Did I really want to go back to the school where I was still doubtless remembered as the girl who was stood up at prom and now, tried to auction off her virginity?
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