Escape With You

by Rachel Schurig

  Great. I try to apologize and end up doing exactly the thing I was saying sorry for in the first place.

  I grit my teeth, trying to think of some neutral topic. “So how boring do you think this is going to be tonight?” I finally say, hoping he doesn’t hear just how falsely bright my voice is.

  “I don’t know. It might not be so bad. I like art.”

  “Yeah, but a college art fair? There’s probably a reason these people aren’t professional yet.”

  He snorts. “You’re such a brat.”

  I feel a rush of relief—that was a much more normal exchange. When Hunter starts telling me about the cute boy he thinks might be at the show, I know we’re okay, at least for now.

  My stomach sinks when we pull up to my mom’s house. She’s been bugging me for ages to bring Hunter by, so I figured I’d comply on our way to Jet’s show. That way we could say hello and have the excuse of prior plans to get us out of there without too much guilt-tripping. What I wasn’t expecting, though, was to see my Dad’s car parked out front.

  “Shit,” I mutter, clenching my fingers on the steering wheel.

  “What?” Hunter asks, looking around. He has no reason to recognize my dad’s car, having never met the man before.

  “My dad’s here,” I say, staring at the house. Suddenly I feel exhausted, everything that’s happened in the last few weeks seeming to crash into me all at once. “I can’t go in there.”

  Hunter reaches over and takes one of my hands from the steering wheel, kissing my knuckles lightly. “Then we won’t.”

  I want to turn in my seat and hug him, thank him for being so sweet and understanding. So undemanding. So Hunter. Instead I squeeze his hand before putting the car back into gear and driving away.

  We drive without talking for a few minutes. Hunter turns on the radio but leaves the volume low. I know what he’s telling me—we can talk about it if you want. I bite my tongue. Seeing my dad’s car at her house has me filled with a weird mixture of anger and sadness so heavy I’m almost afraid to think about it.

  “She makes me so mad!” I burst out, unable to hold it in any longer.

  He reaches over to turn off the music. “I know she does.”

  “I just don’t get how she can have so little self-respect. She lets him waltz back whenever he wants, just because she can’t deal with being lonely for five fucking minutes.” I hit my hands on the steering wheel in frustration. “Here’s an idea, Mom—get some fucking friends!”

  “You can’t make her change, Ellie,” Hunter says. “You know that.”

  I hit the steering wheel again. I do know it, of course. I stopped trying to change her years ago. But it’s never gotten any less frustrating to watch her repeat the same behaviors, time after time, year after year.

  “You know what I think is interesting,” Hunter says, his voice thoughtful.

  I shake my head, trying to dispel the obsessive thoughts, to get myself to stop seething long enough to listen to him. “What?”

  “You never complain about your dad.”

  I tear my eyes away from the road to gape at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I’ve known you for years, Ellie. In that time your dad has been in town five, maybe six times. And every time he’s around, all of your anger is directed at her. I wonder why that is?”

  “Because she’s the one who’s pathetic, she’s the one who—”

  “Yeah, but Ells,” he interrupts. “He’s the one who left.”

  I fall silent, letting his words wash through me.

  “You don’t ever talk about that,” he says softly. “I’ve never heard how that felt for you, how it affected you. You just don’t talk about it, not at all. And it seems like it’s a pretty big thing to have happened in your life, you know? You were what, ten?”

  I have a sudden memory of sitting in that restaurant with him, the night we were supposed to celebrate my birthday. Of watching him walk to the bar, leaning into that woman. I can’t remember what she looked like, but I can remember the look on his face. The way he smiled at her. The way he touched her arm. The way he didn’t met my eyes when he told me I got to have a sleepover at Grandma’s instead, and no, he wouldn’t be staying with me.

  I shake my head, not wanting to think those thoughts. “What does it matter?” I ask. “He wanted to go out and live his life. I can’t fault him for that.”

  “Really? He had a family, Ellie. He left you guys. You were every bit as much his as you were hers. She might not have done everything perfectly, but at least she stayed.”

  “Hunter—”

  “I just think it’s interesting, that’s all. That you give him a free pass.”

  “I don’t give him a free pass!”

  He shrugs. “Obviously, I’m not in your head. I’m just telling you what it looks like from here.”

  He reaches over and turns the music back on, louder this time, and I wonder if he’s signaling to me that he doesn’t want to hear anything else about my mom. But he leans over and kisses my cheek, very fast, before turning back to the window and I understand that he’s actually just giving me time to think about what he said without feeling like I need to be defensive.

  Do I give my dad a free pass? Hunter is certainly right; I complain about my mom a lot more than I ever have about him. But that’s just because she’s around more, her flaws a lot more obvious because I can see them.

  Yes, and isn’t that his point? I think. She was the one who was around. For all of her faults, she stayed with me. She could have dumped me on Grandma, could have given me up entirely. And yes, she did awful things. Keeping Jeffery around being the worst. But Dad did awful things, too. He left me.

  “Hunter,” I whisper, my voice so soft I’m afraid he won’t hear me over the music. But he does, of course he does. He grabs my hand and holds it, tight, all the way to Jet’s art show.

  When we finally park outside the arts building, I lean forward, resting my head on the steering wheel. All I want to do is turn around and go home. I feel very close to tears, and I really don’t want to break down in public. Hunter just holds my hand until I manage to get my breathing evened out.

  “We’ll just stop in and say hi, okay?” he tells me. “Then I’ll drive us home.”

  “You’re not driving my car,” I say automatically, and he laughs.

  “Whatever you want, Ells.” He unbuckles his seat belt, turning to open the door, but I stop him.

  “Hunter, do you think I broke it off with Fred because I was afraid he would leave like my dad?”

  “Ellie—”

  “Because that sounds like the worst kind of cliché. To be weird about guys because my father abandoned me.”

  “I think you’re far from cliché, baby girl.” I meet his eyes, his gaze steady. It makes me feel better, stronger. “I think you broke it off with Fred because you’ve spent your whole life convincing yourself that love is dangerous. I think that came from your mom and your dad. So when he told you he loved you, you panicked.”

  I nod, looking down. I can still remember that feeling in my chest when he told me, the fear and panic that rushed through me.

  “You know what else I think?” he asks, and I look at him. “I think you love him, too. And I think that scared you more than anything else.”

  Before I can argue, before I can respond at all, he opens his door and slips out into the dark night.

  I gape after him for a minute before I finally unbuckle my own seat belt and get out of the car. I meet him on the sidewalk, my mouth open in anticipation of the argument that I’ll make, but he starts talking before I can.

  “It’s getting so cold. It’s going to be Thanksgiving soon. Are you and Zoe going to cook for me?” He slips his arm through mine, leading me to the door.

  I shake my head at his manipulation of the conversation but decide to go with it. I’d rather not be having this discussion in front of a bunch of emo art kids, anyhow.

  “How about you cook for me?�
�� I ask. “And Zoe can make the pies.”

  “Did she tell you about her culinary class?” he asks, his face lighting up. “I think that would be the best career for her!”

  “I do, too,” I agree. Zoe has been bouncing off the walls excited about her new cooking class. I think she’s close to declaring her major. “And think of all the practice cooking she’ll have to do. We’re going to make out like kings.”

  We’re still laughing as we enter the common area. We see Jet’s display right away. It’s set back a ways from the entrance but it’s massive, bigger than any of the other students’. Zoe is standing next to him, looking adorably proud.

  And there, on his other side, is Fred.

  I freeze next to Hunter, my laughter dying in my throat. “Be cool, baby girl,” he whispers. “Just be cool.”

  “Did you know about this?” I hiss.

  “Of course not.”

  From the guilty look on Zoe’s face I can tell that she, on the other hand, did know about this. I can’t believe I didn’t think to ask her if he’d be here. But it’s a Thursday night, and he’s usually in Ann Arbor on Thursday. It never occurred to me that he would add another round trip to his week just to see Jet’s art show.

  It should have, though. I should have known he’d be here because that’s exactly the kind of thing he would do. Be there, for his friend. It’s just like Fred.

  And it’s one of the many reasons I love him.

  I stop dead in my tracks, so shocked by the thought that I can’t move my feet.

  “Are you okay?” Hunter asks. “Ells, this is not playing it cool.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter, letting him lead me forward, my head spinning with the revelation.

  We reach Jet’s display and he smiles at us. “Hey, guys. Thanks for coming.” He looks pretty damn proud of himself, which I would normally get a kick out of—Jet is generally the definition of playing it cool. It would be amusing to see him grinning like that if I wasn’t so sure that I was about to throw up all over Fred’s shoes.

  “Hi,” Fred says, his voice casual. He shoots a vague smile in our general direction but doesn’t meet my eyes. Instead he turns back to Jet, asking about some art detail that goes right over my head.

  “Are you okay?” Zoe whispers in my ear. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” I shake my head. I’m so thrown by what I’ve just realized that I can barely focus on her words. I love Fred. I love him.

  And I have absolutely no idea what to do about it.

  Hunter, luckily, saves me. He takes my elbow and leads me away, giving some excuse to Zoe as we go. Once we’re far enough from the display, he turns to me. “What’s going on?”

  “I think you’re right.”

  His face relaxes. “I know.”

  “So what do I do about it?” I cry, causing several of the nearby attendees to look at us.

  Hunter covers my mouth. “You talk to him, silly.”

  I shake his hand off. “No. No way. He’s too mad at me. And I would feel ridiculous.”

  He rolls his eyes at me. “You’re a grown up. Sometimes grown up girls like grown up boys and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Oh, shut up,” I mutter. Then Hunter’s eyes go wide, focused on something behind me.

  “Hey, Hunter,” Fred says. “Mind if I talk to Ellie for a minute?”

  My eyes widen, silently begging Hunter not to leave me, but he only smiles and says, “Sure. I’m going to check out the punch and cookie situation.” As he passes me he pats my arm encouragingly.

  “Ellie.”

  I turn to face Fred, sure he’ll be able to see my revelation on my face. But his eyes are focused on a point three inches to my right. “I just wanted to apologize,” he says. “I didn’t think you’d be here until later. But obviously I’m making you uncomfortable, so I’ll go now. Then you can go back to your friends.”

  “No,” I say quickly, grabbing his sleeve. I might be embarrassed and downright terrified, but I don’t want him to go. Not ever.

  “You don’t have to do that,” I say, my voice more calm. “I’m fine.”

  He finally looks at me, his eyes scanning my face in that familiar way of his. Suddenly I realize that Fred is right in front of me, up close, and I drink in his features. He looks more tired than the last time I saw him. Maybe even thinner. Oh, God. He’s been sad. I hate thinking of him sad.

  “How are you?” he asks softly. Even though his words are gentle they seem to slam into me. The concern in his voice makes my chest ache. I close my eyes, scared I might cry.

  “I miss you.”

  He exhales. “I miss you, too.”

  We stand like that for a long moment, neither of us talking, just being near each other. Finally, he clears his throat. “I should go. It’s a long drive.”

  “You’re going back tonight?” The thought makes me feel panicky.

  “Yeah. I have class tomorrow.”

  “Oh. Of course.”

  But still he doesn’t go. Tell him, I think. Just say it. That feeling of being too close to the edge of a cliff returns. This time, somehow, it doesn’t seem so scary. I still can’t see what’s at the bottom, of course, but if Fred is with me, how bad can it be?

  “Well,” he says, startling me from my thoughts. “See you later.” He turns to go before I can argue, taking long strides away from me before I can get my mouth to work.

  “I love you!”

  I slap a hand over my mouth. I can’t believe I just said that, out loud, in front of all these people.

  Fred stops but doesn’t turn around. He seems frozen in place. With a chill, I realize that I might be too late, that he might be over me already. The thought is so terrifying it spurns me to action. I close the distance between us, grabbing his arm, pulling him around to face me.

  The look on his face takes my breath away. His expression is equal parts terror and joy. Like he’s thrilled by my confession but too scared to accept that it might be real.

  “I love you, Fred. I’m sorry I…I couldn’t say it before.”

  “Ellie—”

  “I’m probably going to be really bad at this,” I say quickly, not wanting him to get his hopes up too much. “It’s going to take me time to figure out how to…I don’t know. Feel safe in a relationship, I guess. I want to work on it, I want to get there, but you’ll probably get really frustrated with me. You might not even want to stick around long enough for me to get my shit together—”

  Suddenly his arms are around me, his lips on mine, cutting off my rambling excuses. Every objection I had melts away under the pressure of his lips. None of it matters. This I can do. This is me and Fred. Nothing could be more simple.

  “Say it again,” he whispers, pulling away just enough to move his lips against mine.

  “Say what?” I ask and he literally growls, the sound making me laugh—and making me want to jump him right there. “I love you, Fred.”

  He grins, and then he’s kissing me again. I don’t care that people are probably watching us. Don’t care that Zoe and Jet and Hunter are only feet away. All I care about is the way that smile makes me feel—the knowledge that I have the power to make him that happy should scare me, but it doesn’t. It makes me feel strong. Brave. Worthy.

  So I kiss him back knowing that, finally, I’m right where I belong.

  Epilogue

  Fred

  Thanksgiving is usually one of my favorite holidays, and this year is no exception. Sure there’s a bit of a pall over the occasion, what with Phoebe being at rehab. And the knowledge that my parents will be leaving soon. But everyone seems to be taking the attitude that we should be thankful for what we do have, and I couldn’t be happier to comply.

  The fact that I’m leaving before pie to go celebrate with Ellie and her friends helps, I’m sure.

  “I wish you would have brought her here,” my mom says as I help her clear the table.

  I shake my head, laughing. “I’m lucky I got her to agree to call me h
er boyfriend, Mom. If I brought her to grandma’s house with all my aunts and uncles and cousins, I’m pretty sure she would have run for the hills.”

  “It is a little overwhelming,” she agrees looking out in to the living room where everyone is laying, inert, in front of the football game. Her eyes cloud over a little, and I wonder if she’s thinking about leaving. Or maybe she’s thinking about Phoebe’s absence. I wrap an arm around her shoulder and a little guilty voice in the back of my head tells me I should offer to stay.

  But I know she wouldn’t want that. It’s like she told me—I have my own life. And that’s what she wants for me. It’s what my real mom would want for me, too. So instead I kiss her cheek, hug my grandparents and my dad, and head out to my truck.

  At Ellie’s apartment, I pull out my key to let myself in, reminding myself it’s not at all manly to feel giddy about the fact that she gave me a key—actually, that’s verbatim from Ellie’s mouth the day she gave it to me. “Don’t act so giddy, Fred,” she had sighed. “It’s not at all manly. If you’re not careful, I’ll never have sex with you again.”

  I find her upstairs, sitting on the counter, watching while Zoe and Hunter stir things in pots and chop vegetables on cutting boards. Her eyes light up at the sight of me, a reaction I’m not entirely used to yet. I grab her face with both hands, kissing her.

  “Ew, PDA,” Hunter says, pushing past me to take something out of the oven.

  But Ellie doesn’t shirk away—something else I’m not entirely used to. Instead she grins at Hunter. “We need to get you a man, Hunt. You’re becoming a prude.”

  “Why aren’t you helping?” I ask her. “These two are doing all the work.”

  She holds up a glass of wine. “I’m doing the important job of wine-tasting.”

  I make a face at her, pulling off my coat and rolling up my sleeves. “What can I do, Zoe?”

  She immediately puts me to work mashing potatoes while Ellie swings her feet back and forth and tells us all what a terrible job we’re doing. “You’re going to be sorry when Zoe refuses to let you eat,” I warn her.

  She bats her eyelashes at me. “She’s far too scared of me to deny me food.”