Auctioned to Him 6: Damage

by Charlotte Byrd

  And that’s precisely why I feel so terrible about keeping the events of the last month or so secret. I should tell her. She probably won’t freak out. At least, I hope not. Honestly, I have no idea how she would react. But I can’t. I’m scared. So, for now, all my mom knows is that Tristan and I broke up. Again. This time for good. So instead of telling her what’s really going on, I focus on my grades. And school.

  “I did a speech for public speaking last week,” I say. “And it actually went okay.”

  “Oh, I knew you’d do great!” my mom says, clinking her glass to mine. We’re drinking her specialty: sangria. She makes amazing sangria.

  “You know, you can’t get sangria anywhere in New York,” I say wistfully. “I guess it doesn’t fit the climate; it’s all grey skies and bleakness over there now. But I honestly think that a little sangria would do New York some good.”

  My mom flashes her pearly whites.

  “Speaking of grey,” she says. “You’re looking a little grey.”

  I look down at myself as if I can see my face. “I know,” I say with a shrug, “but I haven’t seen the sun in close to a month. Honestly, it gets really depressing sometimes. More like all the time, actually.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” My mom pats my hand.

  Unlike me, my mom looks radiant. Both of my parents are doctors, but they’re not working as many hours as they used to anymore and now it looks like they’re glowing. Gone are the dark circles and the tired eyes. Their skin looks sun-kissed and they’re as fit as ever – given their daily tennis matches at the Calabasas Country Club.

  “So how’s the business going?” I ask.

  My parents started a clinical research organization, which runs pharmaceutical trials. It took a few years for it to get off the ground, but now they have more time and more than we’ve ever had.

  “Really, really good.” My mom smiles. “I’m so glad I’m not killing myself at the hospital anymore. Now, I actually have time to do my makeup everyday and get my hair done every week. Can you believe that? Me actually taking care of myself?”

  “I’m so happy for you,” I say.

  And I mean it. They’ve been working so hard for as long as I can remember, missing my sisters’ and my games and events and special occasions. And now, everything is finally falling into place. They have time for themselves. Time for each other.

  “So, okay,” I say, taking a deep breath. “There is something I’ve been meaning to talk to you two about.”

  “Wait, wait,” my dad says and pours himself another glass of wine. My mom laughs.

  “You ready?” I ask. He takes a sip and nods.

  “Okay, so…I’ve been thinking about something.” I don’t know how to say it without actually just coming out and saying it. I look at my parents. They are waiting for the news patiently but eagerly. “I’ve been thinking of transferring to USC next year.”

  The table gets so quiet, I hear the hummingbirds flapping their wings as they angle for some syrup out of the feeder.

  “Oh wow, that’s a surprise,” my dad finally says.

  “But we thought that you loved Columbia,” my mom says. I know she’s serious because she puts her glass of sangria down and leans closer to me.

  “I did. I mean, I do. But it’s just tough, you know. Winter. All that darkness and the cold.”

  “Well, spring is coming,” my mom says.

  “Hey, if she wants to go to USC, that’s awesome. Why are you trying to talk her out of it?” my dad asks.

  “It’s not that. I’m just confused. I thought you loved New York. This is the first I’m hearing about how you don’t.”

  “It’s not that. It’s not just New York. I mean, it is, but it isn’t,” I say. I’m grasping at straws. The truth is that I don’t know what it is. I just don’t want to be there anymore. I don’t want to deal with the cold and all of the bad choices that I made there. But I can’t really come out and say that. Any of it.

  “Well, I don’t know about your mom,” my dad says, “but I, for one, would love to have you close by. You can visit on weekends. Go surfing anytime.”

  I smile. That sounds…amazing. Exactly what I want.

  After my dad goes inside to answer a few emails, my mom stays out with me on the deck.

  She takes a sip of her sangria and taps her manicured nails on the table. I’m well familiar with this nervous habit of hers. Except this time, something jingles along with it. I look at her wrist. She’s wearing a white gold Tiffany’s bracelet.

  “Is that new?” I ask, even though I know it is. Why did it have to be from Tiffany’s? It reminds me of everything I want to forget back in New York. I can’t bear to look it.

  “Yes,” she says. “Your dad got it for me for our anniversary.”

  “Wow, really?” I ask. My dad has a lot of good qualities, but buying jewelry isn’t one of them.

  “Yes, and I didn’t even have to pick it out myself. He just went out and bought it. All on his own.”

  “Oh my God,” I whisper.

  “I know,” she says with a laugh. “I thought that maybe he had a stroke.”

  I smile. It’s nice to know that no matter how old I get or my parents get, they always have the ability to surprise me. I think that’s important in life. The ability to surprise others.

  I look at my phone. The high of being home is wearing off and I’m starting to feel more and more tired with every minute that passes.

  “I think I’m going to go lie down for a bit,” I say. “I’m really tired from the flight.”

  “Okay.” My mom nods. “But before you go, Alice, can I ask you something?”

  I sigh and sit back down. It’s about USC. I know it. I look into her deep blue eyes and wait.

  “I know your dad is overjoyed about you transferring to USC,” my mom begins. “And I am, too. Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to have you close by. We can go shopping and out to lunch. It would be really fun. I miss those Saturdays we used to have together when you were in high school.”

  “I miss those, too,” I say. Suddenly, thinking back to them, I feel like I’m going to cry.

  “But the thing is that I don’t really understand why you’re doing this. And maybe that’s not my place. Maybe you don’t want to tell me, and that’s okay. But I just want you to really think about this. I don’t want you doing this because things aren’t working out for you in New York. Certain problems you can’t just run away from. It’s strange and hard to believe, but for some reason they tend to follow you around. Even across three thousand miles.”

  “I know,” I say, nodding. Though I don’t really know if I agree with her.

  “And it’s not just certain problems. It’s really all problems. What I’m trying to say…rather ineloquently, I guess, is that I want you to come back here for the right reasons.”

  I nod. I’ve heard that before, that you can’t fix your problems just by changing geography. But changing geography would change a lot of aspects of my life. For one, I would not be living near Dylan anymore – my soon to be ex-husband. And I wouldn’t be living in the same space as Tristan anymore – the love of my life up until now, the guy who broke my heart, and the guy whose best friend I married. Oh, what a mess. I promised myself that I wouldn’t think about this anymore. None of it. At least while I’m in LA. But I’ve only been here for a few hours and I’ve already broken that promise ten times.

  24

  I’ve spent my week in Southern California walking along the sand in Malibu, hiking in the Santa Monica Mountains and eating outside multiple times a day. I think that’s probably what I’ve missed most about California. Eating outside is an important part of the culture here. Almost all restaurants and coffee shops have outside areas to eat. Some have simple awnings. Others have elaborate tables, closed off porches, and heating lamps. And there’s no shortage of them in the Commons area near my parents’ home.

  There’s something magical about eating outside under the bright blue sky and th
e sunlight. The food tastes different, too. Everything has more flavor. Every kernel is somehow more delicious. Over the last few weeks, I’ve been stuffing myself with every greasy thing that came my way. Oily French fries. Hamburgers glistening in fat. Pizza with different types of shiny cheese. There is something about the bleakness and the darkness of New York at this time of year that made me want to eat every unhealthy thing that any vendor or restaurant within walking distance of my dorm would offer. And so I gorged myself all in effort to make the darkness go away. Of course, I was unsuccessful.

  But here, under the high sky, which is so high that it looks like not even a rocket could reach it, I suddenly feel free. I don’t want a grease or fat or oil. No, now I crave something healthy. Something green, definitely organic, and absolutely refreshing. Looking back on the week, the only things I seemed to have eaten all week are fruits and vegetables in a million different ways: smoothies, salads, fresh from the little containers from the farmer’s market. Just this morning, I’ve had one of my mom’s famous green smoothies, which taste amazing by the way, and five juicy strawberries as big as my palm.

  “Are you sure these are organic?” I ask. My mom is a stickler for organic produce. She would be horrified to know what I’ve been living on for the last two months. My mom believes that the body is like a machine. So in order to have a healthy mind and body, you have to power it on healthy foods.

  “Yes, of course. Why?” she asks, taking a big bite.

  She’s splurging today, apparently. She made homemade whipped cream – something she never does when my sisters and I aren’t home – and we are covering each strawberry that we stuff into our mouths with a generous amount of it.

  “I don’t know,” I say, laughing. “These strawberries are just so huge. I thought that they just had to be zapped with something.”

  “Well, I got them from Clara from the farmer’s market on Saturday. She has the most delicious berries.”

  “Oh, you’re just saying that because she’s young and is a farmer and you admire anyone who can grow their food.”

  “Of course I do! In today’s day and age, what’s more miraculous and uncommon than that?”

  I smile, taking another bite. The whipped cream melts in my mouth and cuts the tartness of the strawberry perfectly.

  “I can’t believe you’re leaving already,” my mom says wistfully. “I miss you already.”

  “I know. The week just flew by. But I’ll be back in two months. For good.”

  “For good?” my mom asks.

  I think about that for a second.

  “Well, I meant the summer,” I say.

  “And then?” she asks. “Have you given some thought to what I’d said?”

  “Yes.” I nod. “But honestly, I don’t know. I don’t really have a good reason for leaving New York except that I want to. But I’m not completely decided yet.”

  My mom smiles and tosses her hair. She has such an easy and effervescent quality to her. She’s absolutely gorgeous, but it looks like she doesn’t even know it. I just hope that in the future, I’m half the put together and confident woman that she is. In fact, it would help a lot if I were that woman already. Then I’d have a lot fewer problems, that’s for sure.

  My flight is in a few hours and I go to my room to pack. Wistfully, I put away all the clothes that I don’t need back into my closet. It’s been wonderful wearing all of these tank tops and light long sleeved shirts and shorts and capri pants for the week. I must’ve changed my outfits three times a day just to take advantage of all the clothes that I could wear here that I can’t wear in New York. I put away my flats and flip-flops and drag out the Ugg boots that I’ll be traveling in. I’ve had these Uggs since last year, so they are technically my California Uggs. But in New York, I don’t wear them with shorts and spaghetti straps. No, there, these boots are my go to boots and they’re often not even that particularly warm.

  After completely depressing myself, I decide to take shower. I put on some Miley Cyrus. I’ve decided to quit Adele cold turkey because her lyrics and songs were doing nothing good for improving my mood. I need to listen to happier music, I decided on the plane here. And for a whole week, I was happy with Miley and Meghan Trainor. But now that I’m going back somewhere I was dreading, my heart yearned for Adele.

  No, I say to myself silently in the mirror. When you’re starting to feel down, that’s exactly when you need to avoid the things that only bring on more clouds. I skim through my phone for some other music.

  Ah!

  “Hips Don’t Lie” by Shakira.

  An oldie, but a goodie. It’s upbeat and fun. Exactly what I need. I turn up the music and climb into the shower.

  When I lather up my hair, I hear a knock at the door.

  “Yeah?” I yell out over the music.

  “Hey, honey? I can’t find my phone anywhere,” my mom says, opening the door. “Have you seen it?”

  “No,” I say. My mom is always losing her phone. Honestly, not a week goes by that she doesn’t call me on my dad’s phone completely frazzled by the fact that this time she had finally done it, lost it for good.

  “Well, I can’t find it anywhere,” she says. “Would you mind if I used yours? I just have to call your dad about something.”

  “Sure.”

  My mom leaves and takes my music with her. But the good mood that the beginning of that song put me in doesn’t wear off. I close my eyes and let the hot water run over my face and body. Light streams in through the window. I love the way its warm rays feel on my eyelids. When I open eyes, I’m greeted by a curious blue jay investigating me from the windowsill. I want to wave to her, but I don’t want to scare her so instead, I just admire the way her feathers dance in the breeze.

  And then, right there and then, as I’m watching the blue jay cock her head from side to side inquisitively, for absolutely no reason, something occurs to me.

  Oh. My. God.

  Noooooooooo!

  I turn off the shower and wrap a towel around myself. I don’t secure it well and it falls down right before I reach the door. I have to scramble to get it up over my breasts. My hair is completely soaked and water from it runs down my shoulders. My feet leave little puddles on the hardwood floors.

  I look into each bedroom that I pass, looking for my mom. Maybe she didn’t see it. Maybe she just called my dad and that was it. Please, please, please let that be it. My heart jumps into my chest and I can’t take a full breath. I try to slow down my breathing, breath through my stomach like I had learned at yoga, but I’m freaking out. And nothing’s working. Where the hell is she?

  Finally, I get to my parents’ bedroom. Unlike all the other doors, the door to this one is closed. I open it quietly, but don’t bother knocking. I walk in and see my mother sitting on the edge of the bed staring at my phone. Her shoulders are slumped. Her hair is dangling lifelessly in her face. She’s completely motionless. She looks like she has seen a ghost. Or found out that her daughter not only got married without telling her but is also now getting divorced.

  Shit.

  I know right away that it’s too late. She has read my text messages. But I think that maybe she hasn’t heard me. So I try to tip toe out of the room. Please, don’t hear me. Please, please, please.

  “Alice,” my mom says quietly. She has a stern tone in her voice, very much unlike her usual tone.

  “Hey,” I whisper. My mouth is completely dry. I cough a little.

  “What is this?” she asks, turning to face me.

  Her back straightens out and her chin flies into the air. She’s no longer sad. Now, she’s angry.

  “What?” I ask. Even though I know exactly what she’s looking at. I don’t know what it is about me, but I have this tendency to deny when I’m put on the spot.

  “These text messages,” she says, shaking my phone in her extended hand, “from Dylan.”

  I shake my head. I don’t know what to say.

  Of course, I can get angry about her
going through my phone and reading my private messages. But something holds me back from going that route. I hate to admit it, but a small part of me is happy that my mom found out. This has been a heavy burden to carry around with me and now it’s out.

  “Alice?” my mom asks. “Do you care to explain?”

  I look away and shrug. She throws my phone on the bed. After crossing her arms, she taps her foot a little waiting for me to say something. I glance over at the screen.

  * * *

  You’ve been dragging your feet enough about this. My message is highlighted in green.

  * * *

  Sorry. Dylan’s message appears in grey.

  * * *

  That’s not good enough. When are we finally going to get a divorce?

  * * *

  It’s happening, don’t fret!

  * * *

  How can I not? It has been forever since we got married. At first, you promised me an annulment. And then that was not possible. And now you’ve been playing games with this divorce. I want to know when.

  * * *

  I don’t know.

  * * *

  I can only see part of the exchange on the screen, but I know it word for word.

  “When did you get married?” my mom asks. “Oh my God, I never thought that I would ask my daughter that question!”

  “Mom, it was an accident. I was really drunk. Tristan and I just sort of broke up. I don’t even remember it happening, really.”

  Her blank face tells me that she doesn’t quite get it.

  So I start from the beginning. I fill in all the details about every little thing and, close to an hour later, she seems to finally get it.