Wanted Always (Xander Barns)

by Sarah Tork

  Mom didn’t think this was an accomplishment, instead, applauding Ben’s goal of obtaining a university degree and making a life for himself, the right way, the respectful way. And if that took a little extra time at home then so be it, it would all be worth it in the end.

  Once again, whatever I was doing, didn’t count for shit.

  I was and probably still am the loser. To the family, to the family friends and most of all probably still to Ben.

  Jesus! I frown at my reflection in the rectangle mirror hanging behind the sitting area. I haven’t even made it past the front lobby and I’m already talking myself down.

  This is going well.

  I don’t even need Mom in person to make me feel like shit. I can just use the memories of her to do that. Fuck, I don’t really need any of them to make me feel like a loser. I already do a good enough job doing that for myself.

  Who needs enemies when you’ve got your fucked-up brain instead! Not me! Not fuckin’ me!

  I glance down at the white tiled floor. I feel chest pains on the horizon, and the look on my face is only exculpating that inevitability.

  Ooh, pretty shoes! A wide smile instantly turns my frown upside–down. I feel light and bubbly, warm all of a sudden.

  My beautiful BCBG silver heels do that; they totally do that. I guess the myths about good shoes really are true; they do make you feel amazing.

  And damn it, it’s so strange, because I feel so Goddamned amazing right now. I do a little shimmy, bouncing my feet up and down against the tile while smiling goofily.

  No more – you understand – no more! Remember, you’re not a loser – and you’ve got really nice shoes on, and damn it, girl, you better work them! I take a deep breath, look back up to the mirror, and nod surely to myself.

  It is time to get this thing started. Time to walk in, and for jaws to drop!

  That’s right, move over, bitches; Marisa’s coming in!

  Now, which room are they in?

  ****

  I follow down the only hallway to one of three party rooms. Apparently, at this facility, they could host either one huge wedding, or two medium average-sized parties that would use up two party rooms. But nothing more than that because they only had about 100 parking spaces. I walk past a pair of double doors, no noise is coming from inside them, which is odd because the parking outside is supposed to be enough for two parties booked at a time.

  So how many people did Mom actually invite to this thing? Because the last time I had checked, that parking lot was jammed packed!

  Way more than a hundred people, that is for sure.

  The next party room is further down the hall, and from my field of vision,. I can see people bustling in front of the doors, and the closer I get, the louder the music becomes.

  Here it comes. Here it comes. I feel butterflies in the pit of my stomach; the nerves are really kicking in now that I am getting closer to this moment, five months in the making.

  As I get closer to the double doors, a few kids run out and begin playing tag.

  That used to be me…sigh.

  The kids run past me down the hall, screaming and shouting at the top of their lungs, announcing to the entire facility how much fun they are having. As I catch each of their faces, I don’t recognize them to be able to locate their parents in case they went looking for them; I’ll happily point which way the kids went running in case any of the parents lose sight of them. Although, knowing the type of people Mom associates with, I’ll probably be blamed for their disappearance.

  Keep mouth shut…avoid blame…avoid it like the plague.

  I grab the door handle and jerk it easily open, loud music instantly surrounds me. I catch a glance of the room, and just like Kyle’s Halloween party, this party is packed to the rafters.

  Wow! How many people did Mom actually invite? Definitely 130 plus, that’s for sure!

  The room’s lights are dimmed low as fun party lights move across the room. I enter the room, oblivious to any of the other partygoers; they are all busy getting down with the music, probably already on their third drink from the open bar I see to my left and the huge line around it.

  Mom always does open bar. Not having an open bar is tacky, and honestly, what’s the point of having a party if you can’t provide alcohol freely to your guests?

  I kind of agree with her on that…for once.

  I know; it’s shocking.

  This is perfect. I don’t stick out like a sore thumb; everyone’s too drunk to notice me! I think with glee, my eyes circling the room, checking out the decorations Mom carefully implemented throughout it. The theme is gold and sea blue; there’s a giant banner saying ‘Happy 50th Birthday’ in those colors, and it is hanging over the DJ’s booth that is set up at the end of the dance floor. I check around me, a round table with a large bouquet of flowers is set up right beside the door. The bouquet is filled with blue and gold flowers. I lean in closer to examine the gold ones, and sure enough, they have been spray-painted.

  Spray-painted flowers, who would have thought. Beside the large bouquet of flowers, there’s a small crystal bowl of blue and gold breath mints. My stomach grumbles as a waitress makes her way through a crowd of people holding a tray filled with deep fried shrimp.

  Oh my God, I’m so hungry, I haven’t eaten anything since – since – damn. I don’t even remember when I last ate! I worriedly think. I pat my disgruntled stomach as my mind wonders to the point when I last put something in my mouth.

  A flood of memories comes to me all of a sudden.

  Last night after we left the club, I remember something! My mind regurgitated a moment lost in the fog I’ve been struggling to get through since this morning’s rush of activities. Spots of images resurface in one swift motion, and I see myself stumbling next to a well-mannered Xander on our way out of Lethe.

  “I um veryyyy ungry, I ungry, Xander,” I’d blubbered, wiping my sweaty hair out of my face, blinking twenty times, trying to clear my eyes of the lasers and smoke from inside Lethe that had followed me out. Xander grabbed my arm and led us out into a hidden hallway, at the end was a door.

  “Where we…uh…goin’?” I asked, trying to keep up with his long strides. I glanced at him; he was still wearing his black sunglasses, and he was scowling.

  “What’s your problammm?”

  Xander stopped us right in front of the door and turned to face me. “There’s nothing wrong. I’m just concerned.”

  “Concerned ‘bout what?”

  He comes a little closer and caresses the side of my face. “Darling, you haven’t eaten since, since I don’t even know. Even on the train you didn’t eat anything, and tonight you’ve been drinking on an empty stomach. That’s why I’m concerned,” he says softly.

  Xander touchin’ me funny again…I smiled lazily at him and bent my face into his palms.

  “I’m a hungry, hungry Xander, need food, need food now,” I muttered into his palm, then broke into a fit of giggles.

  “You’re hungry. Well don’t you worry, because Uncle Xander is going to feed you,” Xander soothed teasingly.

  Uncle?

  “You’re not mah untle, you’re too younguh!” I mumbled, my face still in his palm. I closed my eyes for a second. “How old you, Xander, I’m a big girl. I’m twenty-two?”

  I hear his soft chuckles as I take a little bit longer to open my eyes. Drunk or not, it suddenly dawned on me we were still in the hallway. What the hell were we doing?

  “I’m a big boy too; I’m twenty-nine,” Xander answered in a soft chuckle. He let out a long sigh and I heard his phone beep. “Come on, big girl, our ride’s here.”

  He put his palm down and I fell down with it, but he caught me midway to the ground.

  Saved me again…so sweet…so, so sweet, I thought, as he grabbed my arm and opened the door, letting in a cold breeze that my body gratefully relished.

  “Ahhhhh, some fresh air will do you some good!” Xander exclaimed happily, taking me outside to a ta
xi sitting idle in the alleyway. He’d put me inside the car and had crawled in after.

  “Let’s get you some food, shall we?” he said, then turned to the driver…

  That’s all I remember. The rest of the images are too foggy for me to decipher what happened from then on.

  The waitress with the fried shrimp platter makes her way through every person in the crowd and is finally making her way over to me. She stops in front of me.

  “Would you like one?” she asks politely with a welcoming smile. I want to take one; hell, I want to take all of them; that’s how hungry I am. But I need to find my family first, and I don’t want the first words spoken between us in over five months to be with shrimp-breath.

  “No, thanks,” I decline. The waitress smiles and moves on to the next person who grabs three toothpicks.

  Hog! I laugh inwardly at their behavior, but mostly from jealousy.

  Damn it! I’m hungry.

  I grab two mints, one gold and one blue, and pop the gold one into my mouth. The mint flavor overtakes my mouth in an instant.

  At least now when I speak with everyone, my mouth will be minty fresh. Total class play. I tuck the blue one into my clutch for later and trudge through the crowd in search for the twins or Dad.

  Just not Mom, ugh… I don’t want to speak with her. I don’t have it in me to speak with her. Not on an empty stomach at least; and damn it, I’m getting irritated at the thought of being hungry now, so I’ve got no patience…great.

  I walk past a few groups of people that I recognize as my parents’ work friends. I say a quick hello to each of them.

  Circling around a few more people, I spot Dad laughing with a couple of his friends; they are each holding a drink in their hands. I take a deep breath and charge towards him. “Dad!” I yell over the music when I get behind him. I see Dad’s body still for a moment, and then he slowly turns around.

  “Marisa!” he exclaims surprised. He puts his drink down and comes to me with open arms. “Marisa, I can’t believe it. You’re here, in the flesh!”

  I walk into his open arms and hug him. My dad’s cologne instantly overtakes my nostrils and it kind of feels like I can breathe again.

  Weirdly.

  “I told Darcy I was coming. Didn’t she tell you?” I ask him, stepping out of his embrace.

  “She did, right away. We just didn’t believe you’d come, considering how everything’s gone down lately,” Dad states, still looking bewildered; he exhales a deep excited breath. “Wow, Marisa, it’s so good see you. I’m so happy you came.”

  “I’m happy you’re happy, Dad. There’s no way I’d miss your party. By the way, Happy Birthday. Fifty years old…you’re getting old, Dad!” I tell him in jokingly.

  “Hey! Your old man has still got some years in him. I’m not old, I’m just not that young anymore!” Dad counters in mock offense.

  I laugh at his mannerism. I love seeing him in a happy mood.

  Dad takes a moment and scans me from head-to-toe. “Wow, Marisa, I’ve never seen you look this nice, not even for prom. I’m touched. Did you do this for me?”

  “I wanted to look nice for your birthday, Dad.” I tell him.

  “Yeah, are you sure about that? Is it just for me, or is it for a certain someone your own age that you haven’t seen or talked to in over five months?” Dad raises an eyebrow and looks at me in disbelief.

  Ben!

  “I didn’t do this for Ben! He doesn’t deserve the effort, and as we all know, I don’t do things like this for just anyone or anything!” I say, rolling my eyes.

  “That’s true. Your mother will be disappointed. She’s been in constant denial about your relationship, saying you guys have just hit a rough patch and just need some time apart,” Dad explains with an exhale of breath.

  “What?! I can’t believe her. She knows it’s over between us!”

  “I know that, but she still hopes. I think she just wants the wedding; she and Gwen want to plan one so badly,” Dad laughs.

  Why couldn’t he be like this all the time? There is no way Dad would talk like this in front of Mom. I hear heels clack against the floor behind me.

  Uh oh…speaking of the devil. I close my eyes for a second, and when I open them, Mom walks around me and stands next to Dad. She is shorter than I am, but her five-inch heels bring her height up. Normally, that would cast her over me, but tonight, I’m wearing high heels too. I don’t know how tall they are, but I do know that she is, for once in her life, below moi. She’s wearing a purple, one-shoulder shift dress that stops just below the knee, showcasing her gym-sculpted legs. Mom looks me up and down, her eyes doing nothing to hide the shock that her daughter actually showed up to one of her events looking beyond polished. Maybe even more polished than the majority of the guests.

  I know one thing; I’m not saying hello first. She crossed the line all those many months ago; if she wants an olive branch, she’ll have to stretch it out first, and even then, I don’t know if I’d accept.

  I’m still scarred from that horrible screaming match over dinner.

  After a few seconds and a staring standoff, my mom takes a breath and opens up her peach-colored glossed lips.

  That’s what I thought! I think smugly, proud of myself for not breaking and standing my ground.

  “Hello, Marisa,” Mom says calmly and without a trace of venom, surprisingly. Well actually, not surprising. We are at a party; she isn’t going to go crazy and show her true colors in front of her beloved friends, and the kids of those friends, who she apparently favors over her own flesh and blood.

  Moi.

  Bitch!

  “Hello, Mother,” I reply, mimicking her calm façade. It’s obviously a front. I bet she wishes I came a bit earlier, prior to her guests showing up so she could share a word or two about my selfish absence. I mean, there has literally been no one around for five-plus months for her to scold unfairly.

  “You look nice. I’m surprised you actually showed up after so much time away. I’m so surprised; who knew you had it in you?” Mom exclaims, taking another scan of my look.

  And here we go, again…it begins.

  Say it a little louder! I don’t think enough people heard you belittle your daughter. Ugh, what a wasted opportunity.

  I should say something. I really should. I mean, what’s the point of the new Marisa if she’s not going to retaliate in unjustified digs by the forces of evil.

  Mom needs to be taken down, maybe then she’ll finally respect me. I’m not weak!

  “It’s not a big deal; it’s just a dress and some shoes,” I respond to her nonchalantly. I peek through the corner of my eye, and Dad keeps sipping his drink, a bit on edge if you ask me. He is probably scared that he’s going to get kicked between me and her, especially after how the whole situation was left. He probably thought Mom’s irritation over my absence had grown tenfold, and is dying for a chance to tell me how it really is. I couldn’t care less if his prediction or conclusion came true. The only thing I know is that I am ready, ready for a fight, for a chance to redeem and pick up my scarred soul which she so happily trampled on in the favor of another woman’s child.

  Damn it, it still hurts. The sooner I get over it, the sooner I’ll be able to shoot back responses that equally sting her. I dream of a day when I leave her in such a state that she’s unable to mumble a coherent sentence; maybe then she’ll finally turn off the bitch switch and become a mother.

  For once in her life.

  Back to the dress. It isn’t just a dress, and the shoes, they aren’t just shoes. I love them, love them enough to go sit in the corner and stare, just stare. Glancing around the party, sitting in the corner and ogling my shoes seems like more fun, especially as this next person charges over to us.

  “Marisa, I thought that was you!” Gwen, Mom’s best, best, best friend exclaims happily, as she glides towards us in her flowy, peach–colored, spaghetti-strapped cocktail dress.

  “In the flesh,” I say to her as she
joins Mom’s hip. Mom smiles at her best friend and then turns back to me as a different look transforms her happy, genuine expression.

  Forced tolerance?

  I don’t know. I never know if it’s real or forced. I think it’s easier if I just assume she’s being fake for the greater good of our surroundings. That is, until we’re behind closed doors, and then that’s when she’ll let it rip.

  Well, I definitely won’t give her the chance to express in her loving tone, how much of an embarrassment I am to her and the family. There won’t even be a room for us to go to, because I’m not leaving this party room for anything other than to use the facilities.

  There won’t be, ‘A word Marisa’ or ‘I need to speak with you in private!”. I’ll be like, ‘You’ve got my email, send me a letter!” I laugh inwardly at the thought.

  I hope that isn’t obvious.

  “So Marisa…we haven’t seen you for a long time. What have you been up to? Where have you been?” Gwen asks.

  I should have come up with a script about what I am going to tell people; I’m certainly not going to tell people that I work at an ice cream parlor for horrible pay. I haven’t changed except for a few small details regarding my personality, in which I regard as monumental. Anything that involves growing and changing as a person for the better is a success in my book. But for these women standing before me with newly threaded and penciled-in eyebrows, casting an obviously discerning eye every two seconds, my accomplishments aren’t really accomplishments in their opinion. I bet that they’ll think whatever it is that I’ve been doing since leaving is pointless. I haven’t moved to a better place. My financial situation hasn’t moved for the better; my career certainly hasn’t moved for the better, and I don’t even have a man to at least say I have a man.

  Fail!

  So I’m not going to tell them what I’ve been up to really. A lie should ward off their interests for now; or I’ll just bend the truth, enough to satisfy their urges to depress and humiliate me.

  Control your claws ladies, this girl does not want to fight. Not that she can’t if she has no choice, but really, who’d want to fight in such a pretty dress? And let us not forget the shoes, these shoes are too good not to feel special in, not even for a second.