Pocketing the dread as much as I could, I dragged myself out of bed and made my way to the bathroom. The cats raced all around my feet and tried to hurry ahead. It wasn’t long before they bumped the door after I closed it, probably disappointed when I didn't rush into the kitchen to open their can of food.
On the other hand, my bladder and I were having a disagreement. I lingered in the bathroom after, washing my hands and face, then brushing my teeth and then my hair. I lingered and kept waiting to hear Mom feeding the cats. I kind of needed some kind of clue as to whether she was home or not.
Since I’d told her I might not be home the night before, there was a possibility of running into Archie’s dad in the kitchen.
Please, please don't let that happen.
Finally, I couldn’t put off leaving the bathroom anymore. I had to get in there and do something. The cats needed to eat, or they were going to stage a full on revolt. As it was, they yowled as they raced around my path to the kitchen. The very quiet kitchen where no coffee waited and didn't even look like any coffee had been made. There were no dishes in the sink. Not a cup or a spoon. In fact, it looked exactly like I left it before I went to the party.
A little curl of dread began to tighten in my belly, but I didn't have time for that because the cats still needed to eat. I busied myself with that task. Soon, they were eating their food, happily ignoring me again. I got coffee started, because whether Mom was home or not, I really needed coffee. The sad truth was, Mom might be home. Archie’s dad might be here.
In her bedroom.
What little appetite I’d developed fled. So I concentrated on what I could do. I made coffee, I checked the freezer for something for dinner, even as I thought about the fact that I was probably not going to be home for dinner it was probably a good idea to look.
The only reason I wouldn’t be home was if I went out with Jake. My head pounded. Crap, I was supposed to go out with Jake later that evening. Or—at least spend the evening with him.
Was that still on? Did I want it to be on?
When the coffee finished brewing, I poured a huge mug full of it, uncaring whether or not I left enough coffee for Mom, because I had no idea if she was here or out. Maybe they were hiding in her bedroom because they heard me coming, I didn't know. Right now, I really didn't want to. The fact I couldn’t stop thinking about where they were or what they were doing was going to make me crazy.
Coffee in hand, I made my way back to my bedroom, moving as quietly as I dared past Mom's door in the small hope that if they were in there and they were asleep, maybe I wouldn’t wake them up. No, I didn't live in a fantasyland. I was, however, not eager for that particular conversation. What would I even say?
When I was twelve years old, my mother came into my bedroom while I’d been sprawled out reading a book.
She said, "Frankie, you need to make a phone call for me."
Wasn't the first time my mom had asked me to do something strange, and I’d made calls for her before—like for pizza and stuff. So I said, "Who do you want me to call?"
She said, “Kenny."
Mom had been dating Kenny for a long time. When I’d first met him, he’d been little more than a guy with a drawl and a kind smile. But he’d always been nice to me and did generous things for us. He once took me to the state fair up in Dallas. Well, actually, he took me and Mom. But he’d taken me on all the rides, even the ones Mom wouldn’t go on. He played the games and won me a stuffed bear. He was fun. He liked to play games. Even got along with my friends.
"Okay, why am I calling Kenny?" I’d asked. Someday, far into the future after that particular day, I’d learned to not ask that kind of question.
"I just need you to tell him I don't want to see him anymore. Tell him not to come around and not to call."
My heart sank. "Why?"
"I don't have to explain that to you. I just need you to call him."
"But if you don't want to see him, why do I have to call him? I like Kenny. He's fun, and he’s supposed to take me to the movies this weekend with Coop and Bubba."
"Frankie, I don’t need your opinion. I need you to do this for me. Don’t ask questions, just take care of it, okay, sweetie? " Mom was insistent, and she wouldn't answer any other questions about it, so I did what I had to do.
She handed me her phone, and I chose his contact. When he answered, I said, “Hi, it’s Frankie. I don't want to be the one calling to tell you this, but Mom doesn't want to see you anymore. She said you shouldn’t call or come by to see us ever again."
And I wanted to cry. But I said it all perfectly, exactly how Mom had told me to say it. The dead silence on the other end of the phone choked me.
Had he heard what I said? Was I going to have to say it again? I didn’t want to have to say it again. I didn't want to say it the first time.
"Sweetheart, it's okay," Kenny said, his now familiar drawl slow and sweet. "You take care of yourself and your mama, okay?"
And while Mom had said that was all I needed to say to him on the phone, I added, "I'm going to miss you, you're a good friend."
"I’ll miss you too, kiddo. I wish it could be different. But sometimes you just gotta listen your mom. You take care, okay?" I thought Kenny felt as bad for having to say that to me as I did for saying it to him. The whole time I was on the phone, Mom stood in the doorway to my room watching, listening, and not saying a word.
Into the quiet on the phone, I’d said, “Hey, Kenny?"
"Yeah, Frankie, I'm still here."
"I know I’m only twelve, but in six years I'll be eighteen, and if you still want to go to movies and stuff, you can still be my movie buddy." And I glared at my mother the entire time I said it.
He’d chuckled and said—something inane. What was he going to say to a twelve-year-old that just said she’d go out with him when she was eighteen? It had been a stupid thing to say, but I’d been so mad at my mom. I liked Kenny. I didn’t always like the guys she dated, but I wanted her to be happy.
Why couldn’t she have been happy with him?
After I got off the phone, Mom walked out of my room with her phone in hand and not saying a word.
I didn't really see her for the rest of the day. I had to tell Coop when he came over that we couldn’t go to movies anymore because Kenny was gone. Then I had to tell him why.
He stared at me like I’d grown a second head. I couldn't blame him, because it kind of felt that way. Kenny was my friend. I thought Mom really liked him. They’d dated for over year. They had dated long enough that he actually spent the night in the apartment every now and then. Not often. Mom was very strict about the fact the people she dated didn't stay at our place. Still, I never forgot him, and I hadn’t seen him again. If Mom had?
Would I even know?
As I sat on the bed in my room drinking my coffee, that scene replayed itself over in my head, over and over and over again.
Did I have calling Archie's dad and breaking up with him for my mom to look forward to in my future?
Or worse, would he end up having those visiting privileges because they’d been seeing each other long enough?
Wait. How long had Mom and Archie's dad been seeing each other? She'd been dating someone since the end of my junior year. All those business trips over the summer—and part of the reason I hadn’t been able to tour colleges—had they actually been business trips? Or had they been a way for her to go out with Archie’s dad?
I hated the fact that I had to ask myself these questions.
By the time I finished my coffee, the residual drowsy, groggy, headachy, I felt like crap feeling had passed. I was just tired. It was still early, but I had laundry and homework to do because I hadn’t done any Friday night, and nothing got done on Saturday. I had stuff that was due the following week. I was way behind on my study schedule. And I didn't have to go to work today.
That made my decision for me, I went to get my laundry sorted so I could take it over to get the clothes washed. As I w
as sorting it out, I found Archie's T-shirt and his sweats along with Jake's boxers.
I still had no idea what I was going to do.
Steeling my spine, I went ahead and sorted their clothes in with mine. It wasn't like they didn't need to be washed. That idea, however, took my attention to the bed. Technically, I should strip it and wash the bed sheets and comforter. But I really didn't want to wash the sheets, and I really didn’t want to wash the pillowcases.
I was pathetic; I didn't want to wash them, because I didn't want to wash the scent off. I didn’t know when the next time was that they would be over—if at all. It wasn't because of what they wanted, but because I didn't know what I wanted.
So I compromised. I pulled the comforter off to wash it and left everything else in place.
Laundry gathered in the basket, I slung on my backpack so I could take my homework with me and got quarters out of the jar I kept on my dresser. As I turned around, I paused and stared at the roses sitting on the desk by the window. The very first rose had begun to wilt. The second two had opened full, but were now starting to droop. The three were just now blooming, while the four and the five looked like they were going to any time now. I needed to refill their water when I came back up.
I thought about the note that I'd gotten the night before. The only reason I went to the party was to set the boundaries with the guys. To hold them accountable for what they had decided to do. The only reason I stayed was so that I could meet this person, because they said they were going to be there. Then, it turned out I was too sad for them to see. Hence the note.
Great, I went from being untouchable to being sad. Such an improvement.
Seizing my basket, I snagged my keys and headed for the door. I was halfway to the laundry room when it hit me; I still had to go get my damn car.
* * *
Laundry took a couple of hours. During that time, I managed to get most of my reading done for AP European history, about 1/3 of the paper for AP Lit drafted, I even had time to do some calculus. Three of the problems on the calculus homework made me pause, however, and I was half tempted to pick up my phone and text Ian, because they were the kind of problems that usually gave him issues.
The fact that my fingers twitched and itched to reach for my phone made me not do it. It was still on do not disturb from the night before, and I hadn't turned the sound on yet. Actually, I hadn’t even looked at it. I was being chicken.
I was halfway through folding the last load when Coop appeared in the doorway.
That was predictable.
"Sorry," he said, eyeing me carefully. "You weren't answering your phone, or the text messages, and I got worried. So I thought I would check to see if you were here."
"Here I am," I told him as I continued folding the clothes. "I just haven't been up to dealing with my phone yet today. Wanted to get ahead on my homework before I got distracted."
His expression brightened, and he tilted his head. "So you were going to answer us later?"
"I don't know what I'm gonna do," I admitted. "It's the hardest part of this, Coop. I trusted you guys. I trusted you with everything. And now I'm sitting here wondering why. And then I hate myself for wondering why, because you guys are my friends. But if you are my friends, why would you do those things?"
It all spilled out of me in a rush, and I had to blink rapidly to keep the tears from pooling. I wasn't going to cry. I needed to find a way to deal with this that didn't involve yelling, screaming, or crying. Though all three sounded pretty good right now.
"I don't know how to fix it either," Coop admitted. "I just know that I want to. We were wrong. I don't know how else to tell you we were wrong. Did we want to protect you? Yes."
I stared at him and shook my head. "Isn't that what got us into trouble in the first place?"
"Because we told people they couldn't date you?"
"Because you wanted to ‘protect me,' wasn't that what you said?"
"Yes, that is exactly what we said. Frankie, I can't apologize for wanting to protect you. I won’t. I mean, I've been here, I've seen some of the crap that went down. I know that you don't talk about it, and you don't ever want to talk about it. But I know how lonely you get. I know the crap your mom has done."
I held up a hand. And narrowed my eyes. Coop blew out a breath and backed up a step. Discussing my mother and that part of my past was truly off-limits. I know the guys didn't understand, but she was my mom. Some days, I didn't even know if I liked her, but she was still my mom.
"Let's keep this about us," I said slowly. "The only part about my mom is the part where she is seeing Archie's dad." I really needed to find a new way to think about that. "You know what, I'm not even going to call it my mom seeing Archie's dad. I want to call it bad meatloaf."
He raised his eyebrows and stared at me. "Bad meatloaf?"
"Yes, bad meatloaf. You know how it sits in your stomach like a rock, and it's dry, and tastes like ass, but you still have to eat it because it's the bad meatloaf that's for dinner, and you don't get to eat anything else?"
"Yeah, and I avoid that like the plague if I can," Coop said, a small smile forming on his lips. “That’s what cereal for dinner is for.”
I shrugged. "So that whole thing is bad meatloaf." That way, I didn't have to say my mom and Archie's dad so much or ever again, if at all possible.
"So, we didn't tell you about bad meatloaf," Coop said slowly, and for a moment, his lips twitched. And I have to admit, so did mine. "I can't change that now. I can honestly say that knowing what I know now that I wouldn’t go back and tell you anyway. You're right, Frankie, she is your mom. How am I supposed to tell you something like that?"
The hell of it was, I didn't know. "I don't even know if I would've believed you guys if you had told me." For a moment, his shoulders sagged.
"I don't know if you would have believed us either. I know that you would hate to have heard it from us. You don't like telling us the bad stuff, I can imagine you don’t want to hear it either."
I dropped the shirt I was folding into the basket and reached for the next one — it was Archie's — and Coop’s eyes narrowed on it as I folded it. The flare of his nostrils told me the moment he noticed Jake's boxer shorts. Course, he might not have pinned them for Jake, but they were boxers, and I didn't own any except for an old faded pair of his.
I didn't comment on the clothing, and neither did he. I just kept folding.
“I don't know what I want to do," I told him again. "Everything just seems off. I’m supposed to go out with Jake later. Or maybe Jake was supposed to come over here." Oh God, that would be even worse, if Jake was here while my mom was here.
"I know, he's really hoping you don't back out."
I laughed a little, and then I blew out a breath. Because for a split second there, I thought about asking Coop to let Jake know I didn't want to go out. Not until I knew how I really felt.
But I wasn't my mother. If I was gonna let one of these guys down or tell them I wasn't going out with them, they were going to hear it from me.
"What are you thinking?"
"Thinking I'm a little messed up. And that I miss my best friends. I don't know how to make this so I can trust you guys again."
"Have you ever thought that maybe what we need is time?"
"Well, we have some of that," I told him. "The college applications are due, and Homecoming is around the corner, and you guys have my schedule all partitioned up for dates and I don't know whether I'm coming or going, and then there's the bad meatloaf."
"That meatloaf we could just throw out," Coop said flatly. "As for the rest of it, if you need time, you tell us you need time. Just don't stop talking to us." Then he took a step forward, and when I didn't withdraw or make any motion for him to stay back, he came all the way up to me.
I dropped the last piece of clothing I was holding in the basket and turned around, and when he opened his arms, I stepped right into them. Because this was Coop. This was my best friend. He was th
ere through skinned knees and busted elbows and the first time I lost a tooth. He got into a fight for me, and I got into fights for him.
"Don't stop talking to me," he said. "Can you do that?"
Holding on, I rubbed my cheek against his shirt, and then I nodded. "I can try," I said. It wasn't quite a promise. "But I'm really hungry, and I need to go get my car."
Coop laughed. "Want to take a ride share with me, and then we’ll grab lunch after we get your car?"
You know what? I did.
“This doesn’t mean I’m not still mad,” I warned him.
“Understood,” he said, his expression serious. “This is just refueling.”
I laughed. “Well, we do need to eat.”
“That we do,” he agreed with me, and then after a light squeeze, he released me. Turning, he snagged the basket. “I’m ready to go now, so let’s just drop this off and I’ll call the ride share?”
I gathered my stuff back into my backpack and eyed my leggings and tank top. I wasn’t really dressed for going out out. Hell, I didn’t even have a bra on.
“You look fine,” Coop told me. “If you’re scared of being seen in public, we can just get drive-thru and drive over to the lake and feed the ducks with the leftovers.”
I snorted. We hadn’t done that in years. “I still have a ton of homework to do,” I told him. “So food and then probably back here.”
He sighed. “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“No,” I agreed with him. “I guess I can’t.”
His smile grew at that admission. “Good to know.”
Chapter Five
Forgiveness and Stuff
At the apartment, Coop waited outside while I carried the laundry in. It was still quiet. Apparently, I didn’t have to worry about bad meatloaf this morning. Leaving the laundry basket and backpack in my room, I snagged my wallet and sunglasses before I headed back out. Coop straightened, phone in hand to show me how far away our ride was.
Changes and Chocolates: Untouchable Book Two Page 6
