“I think you should do it,” Grayson suggests and it’s like a record scratching in my brain.
“Excuse me?” I try to clarify, sober now. He can’t seriously think that it is a good idea for me to do this.
“Hear me out,” he reasons, setting off when the light turns green. “He doesn’t know you feel this way. If he did, do you think he’d even be marrying this chick?”
I open my mouth to say something, but come up short. He has to know how I’ve felt all these years…right?
“And don’t forget Cam,” Grayson adds, gazing at me pointedly then. He has me there. I have nothing to say to that, so I keep my mouth shut; but Grayson isn’t done. “You never gave him a chance to fuck up loving you, Savi. The end of something that never happened is as much your fault as it is his.”
I hate him. Lord knows I love Grayson, but I hate him in this very moment. My heart pounds a broken rhythm at his words because he’s right. He’s right and I wish he wasn’t.
“So what are you saying, Gray?” I whisper, my heart aching.
“I’m saying, give your best friend a memorable wedding gift and lick your wounds afterwards.”
Savi – Past
May 2008
The knowledge that Kyle and I shared such an intimate moment has been our best kept secret. It has been months since the best night of my life and, although I am still grounded, the secret smiles we continue to share, the longing stares and the text messages which only contain ellipses, are testaments that we have not been the same since that night. To be frank, we have been stuck reliving what happened and it has been no easy feat pretending that it didn’t.
Memories, we’ve found, don’t live like people do.
This is our final semester of high school, and while others are worrying about what they will do in the summer or what colleges they will be accepted to, Kyle and I have worried about trying not to repeat our Cape Aventura dalliance.
We have tried to stay away from each other, and for the most part we do; but there have been a few intense moments that have had me wondering if he really was going to fuck me behind the bleachers. Not that I wouldn’t have been up for it.
But then I see the weight of the world in his eyes and he seems to have so much dealing with, so I kiss him gently on the lips and leave every single time, breaking both of our hearts. One of us has to know when to pull away, and it is always me.
It has been a difficult few months, to say the least.
SATs results came back and Kyle, Grayson and I all got exceptional scores. Most of the kids from our senior year had gotten good scores, actually; even Rex, who I eventually found out had a bet going as to how many times he would fuck me the night of his party and how many times he would make me come…which would involve his friends getting a peek at the show.
Kyle had been right to kick his ass; and so was Grayson when he found out.
The rest of the school year flew by quickly. I made the decision to steer clear of all boys, except Grayson, for that time. For my own sanity, I’d blocked Kyle from my cell phone contacts and deleted his number from my phone for good measure. Yet, no matter how hard I’ve tried, I cannot forget those ten digits…
Or any memory we have shared.
I am staring at my reflection in my bedroom mirror, the last set of tears falling down my face. My freshly colored purple hair is bright against my pale face. I try to smile, but it feels forced and alien on my face. I should be happy today. It’s graduation. It feels like everyone from both sides of my family is here to witness this momentous occasion. The house is filled with people; the laughter rich amongst them all. Spike is being as loud as ever, but in here, in my bedroom, there is peace.
My emotions, though…well, they are waging war.
I’m happy: I have finally gotten to this milestone!
I’m sad: Because this is the end of a significant part of my life.
I’m angry: I know my family will embarrass me somehow today.
I’m worried: what will life be like after high school?
I’m anxious: I’m ready to start the next chapter in my life.
I’m lost…
Because I don’t have Kyle anymore.
Fresh tears stream down my face and I hug myself in a vain attempt to keep everything together that is shattering apart inside of me. There was a time when I thought that he and I would be making this fateful journey together; that we would go hand in hand toward a future we would have created for ourselves.
He sat and listened to me plan and dream, and now, where is he?
I reach for the scrapbook he made me and sit with it on the edge of my bed. Running my fingers over the cover – us on a gondola, sailing over a picture of the world globe – I recall the very first time I told him I wanted to go to Venice, Italy. We were sixteen years old and had ridden our bicycles down to Cape Aventura. He laid a blanket out for us to lie on – the same blanket he took my virginity on that night that still feels so fresh in my mind – and, over Pop Tarts and purple soda, he let me talk for half an hour straight without once interrupting me.
He had looked so fascinated at the time. We had been talking about places we would love to go to ten years from now. His answer was the World Series, while mine was a little bit more highfalutin. By the end of my ravings, he was sold.
We made plans that day that, ten years from now, we were going to take a ride on those gondolas in Venice, Italy, and drink wine while we went under the Bridge of Sighs, even though he thought wine was a “chick thing”. He didn’t know then that I was only planning our honeymoon.
And I didn’t know it then that that would never be a reality.
A soft knock on my door comes and I dash fresh tears from my cheeks.
“Come in,” I acknowledge, trying to sound like my heart isn’t breaking.
My paternal grandmother opens the door and walks in. As soon as our matching eyes meet, I run to her. Her arms open and I sink into the comfort they bring. Tears soak her pretty pink blouse, as does my snot. She is just going to take one of my tops to replace it anyway, as if they can fit. Her knockers are huge, yet she is convinced that we wear the same size.
I don’t know where she gets these delusions from.
“Oh, my darling little Georgia Peach,” she soothes in my ear.
My grandmother has been calling me Savannah Georgia Peach since I was a baby. It always puts a smile on my face. You would think that she’s more like my Dad, and she is – sweet as ever and wise. But…
“Who the fuck do I need to kill and bury?” She has the mouth of her daughter-in-law.
Something between a snort and sniffle escapes me and it feels good to smile again. She wipes the tears away from my face and I take deep breaths trying to calm my topsy-turvy emotions. Being a girl sucks hairy balls sometimes.
“What’s going on, baby girl?” Gran asks, stroking my hair, eyes that match mine seeking answers.
“I just –” I don’t even know where to start. “I thought we’d be doing this together, you know?”
Understanding dawns on her as she nods knowingly. My grandmother knows everything about Kyle and me. She and I have already planned Kyle’s and my nuptials, and she has appointed herself my matron of honor. At this juncture though, I doubt very much that there will be any rice thrown in Kyle’s and my direction any time soon or any time in the future.
It is just not in the stars for us.
“My Georgia Peach,” she whispers, equally heartbroken. “Life doesn’t always turn out the way you want it.”
Don’t I know it?
“But you have a lifetime of adventure ahead of you,” she continues. “Always look forward, baby girl. That’s where your future is.”
“But –”
“I know, I know,” she cuts me off. “I know you wanted him to be your future.” She knows me so well.
“But who knows what the future holds?” she goes on, her words blanketed in wisdom. “If you keep dwelling on the past, life just might pa
ss you by, and before you know it, you’re an old cat lady with twelve of those Persian devils and twenty vibrators.”
My shock is hard to hide. The mouth on this woman! But then a snicker breaks free, and then we’re laughing, and my spirit lifts. My grandmother always knows what to say.
“There goes that beautiful smile,” Gran praises, rubbing the apple of my cheek. “Hold on.” Her hand falls away from my cheek before she digs into her pleated white skirt pocket and pulls out a long swede box. She opens it and the most beautiful necklace lays in it. My eyes go large because my cheapo grandmother has truly splurged on this purchase.
“How many coupons did you trade for this one, Gran?” I ask, wide-eyed.
“Hey, brat, I’m not that cheap!” she argues.
We pause and look at each other before bursting into giggles.
“Yeah, okay, I am that cheap.”
Carefully, she lifts the slim gold necklace with a golden globe attached at the end from the box. The globe is not smooth and round, but almost prismatic with sides and edges. It is a strange design, yet unique.
Like me.
Motioning me to turn around, I do, and she secures the beautiful piece around my neck. A sense of oneness storms me as soon as I feel it on my skin, the globe resting against my chest, and I know that, unlike the unicorn necklace Grayson gave me…
I will never take this off.
“The world is yours, my Savannah Georgia Peach,” Gran whispers in my ear. “And it’s never too late to get the future you’ve always dreamed of.”
I close my eyes, and for the first time, I envision a future without Kyle in it and it does not make me want to die.
Graduation was truly memorable. Long, but memorable. Held on the football field, we all were witness to the greatest moments in Rainier High history!
As the Principal addressed the crowd, farting sounds could be heard making us all laugh hysterically. In the middle of the valedictorian’s speech, fireworks went off. Then, as the last person went up to collect their diploma, three of the jocks from the football team tore off their gowns and ran around the football field in their underpants and caps.
And although we’ve come to the end of the road, no doubt they will not be getting a recommendation from Principal Werner.
I stand next to my Aunt Regina in her tight black sleeveless dress, which shows off the full-sleeve tattoo on her left arm, and take my umpteenth picture. She’s mom’s younger sister and just like my mom in so many ways with the tattoos, foul mouth and feisty attitude. Her daughter’s father stares at her with enraptured eyes, and I figure that he will be asking her to marry him tonight for what is probably the tenth time since they’ve been together.
She loves him, but she’ll probably say no again. Something about protesting the institution of marriage.
“That guy has been staring at you this whole time,” she whispers in my ear as we throw up the West Side sign for our next picture. “If I was eighteen again, I would totally blow him.”
“Jesus, Reggie!” my mom exclaims, hearing her sister’s comment.
“Aunt Reggie, would you stop?” I hush her, mortified. My family knows how to embarrass me. They have it down to a Science it seems.
“Oh, come on, Jules,” she scoffs. “If he wasn’t totally smitten with your daughter and you weren’t so totally smitten with Wes, you’d blow him, too.”
Mom pauses and gives her younger sister a scathing look…before smirking and agreeing, “Yeah, I so would.”
“Somebody please shoot me,” I beg no one in particular.
“Seriously, who’s the hot as shit jailbait?” Aunt Reggie asks, staring in the direction of a possible pedophilia charge.
I keep my mouth shut, knowing that there is only one person who could be staring at me with so many people around. The heat that licks my skin is not because of the weather. Oh no. It’s because Kyle has me on his radar like a heat-seeking missile.
This boy is working on me dropping my panties right here. And if I didn’t think Dad would have me committed and him shot, I so frickin’ would!
“Oh, that’s Savi’s not-really-boyfriend,” Mom answers for me.
“Seriously?” I huff.
“Oh, yeah, they have the hots for each other, but somehow have never gotten together,” Mom goes on to say.
“I’m right frickin’ here, Mom!”
“Oh, don’t worry, niecey,” says Aunt Reggie conspiratorially. “Go on out to college and live a little. That’s when he’s gonna really see you and be all over you like a priest on an altar boy.”
“Gran, did you carry your gun?” I shout, making everyone within earshot turn to stare at me. “Never mind, I’ll just let my embarrassment kill me slowly.”
Mom and Aunt Reggie laugh at my expense, and I can hardly blame them. Kyle and my story is a pathetic one.
“Savi!” I hear a small, sweet voice yell from behind me.
“I’d know that voice anywhere!” I spin around just in time for Joy Moxam, Kyle’s little sister, to leap right into my arms.
I hug her tightly and kiss her all over her little face, the tassel on my cap tickling her.
“OMG, gross!” she fusses as she giggles. “I don’t know where your mouth has been!”
I put her down and ruffle her brown curls and she huffs before beaming a smile at me…a smile that looks so much like her brother’s.
“You looked so awesome up there collecting your thingy!” she expresses, pointing at said “thingy” – the portfolio with my high school diploma in it.
“I looked like everyone else, spaz,” I say, bumping into her with my hip.
“Nuh-uh,” she argues. “Your purple hair is the tits!”
“Joy Marie-Antoinette Moxam!” her mother scolds as she nears us.
Joy’s eyes go wide before she explains, “It’s just an expression, Mom.”
“Well, let me expressly express that I don’t like that expression, and don’t want to hear said expression ever again or I may have to express you to Nana’s,” Mrs. Moxam threatens.
I see the defiance on Joy’s face, but she smiles sweetly and concedes with a “Yes, ma’am”. When she turns to me, I almost die laughing when she mouths, “Tits”.
She is just too much.
“Savannah, darling, don’t you just look like the most beautiful girl!” Mrs. Moxam gushes, hugging me and kissing my cheek.
Laura Moxam is radiant in a belted white flowy dress with a wide collar that breaks around the tops of her shoulders and gold heels. Luscious curls frame her face as they hang loose. As she beams at me, I conclude that both Moxam kids get their smile from her. There is a magnetism about her; she is so warm and motherly, yet so worldly and modern. I always loved being around her whenever I’d visit their home.
My relationship with her and Joy are a casualty I’ve had to live with in this breakup with my best friend.
“And congratulations on North Shore!” I’m not surprised that Mrs. Moxam knows this.
When I found out that I had gotten into the prestigious Floridian university, I unblocked Kyle, took a picture of the acceptance letter, and sent an MMS to the number I could never forget in a million years. In response, he had sent me his own full-ride acceptance to Duchannes University in Louisiana.
My heart had lurched that day for two reasons. One: any communication from him is enough to have my heart doing somersaults. Two: for the aching fact that he had chosen to go to a college that was far away from me.
Although I went far away from him first.
We had not spoken since then but knowing that he still talked about me with his family made my heart smile.
Guess I am not the only one who does…
“Thank you, Mrs. M,” I say, beaming.
“Proud of you, honey,” she tells me, and I beam even more. “You’re gonna kick ass.”
“Hey!” Joy gripes. “How come you and Kyle can say that and I can’t?”
“Jesus, give me patience,” Mrs. Moxam mutt
ers, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“When have you ever heard me say that word, troll?” Kyle asks, walking up to us.
“You were on the phone talking about how nice Savi’s bu–”
Kyle cuts her off with a hand over her mouth and I almost choke on my tongue. A blush reddens my cheeks and I look away, biting my lip. So, Kyle thinks I have a nice ass…
“She’s hearing things. Maybe you should ship her off to Nana’s.”
“Let go of your sister,” Mrs. M demands, as Joy struggles away from Kyle.
She stomps on his foot and runs straight into her father’s arms as he makes his way to our group. He shakes my father’s hand and gives Mom a kiss to the cheek before wrapping me into one of his big bear hugs. Mr. Moxam, in his tailored blue suit, crisp white shirt with no tie, brown belt and matching brown shoes, was always so kind and affectionate toward me, as he is with his daughter. Not sure what his damage is where his son is concerned.
“Laura told me the good news of you getting into North Shore. Congrats, my dear,” he praises.
I notice Kyle tense as he takes his father in, but neither of them acknowledge each other. They are civil when they have to be, but for the most part they try to stay out of each other’s way unless it involves baseball. And that is so sad to me.
“Thank you,” I express then smile brightly as I turn to my best friend. “Speaking of congratulations – you must be proud of Kyle, too. Great SAT score, great end of season stats, a full ride to one of the most coveted universities this side of the western hemisphere and no baby mommas? That is amazing stuff!”
Mr. Moxam chuckles but looks at his son – really looks at him – as if he is seeing him for the first time. Kyle is taut, hardened walls shooting up around him. I want to reach for him and reassure him that there is no need for walls; and I want to shake his dad because time with his son is fleeting. Before he knows it, Kyle will be grown with kids of his own who he would never get to see because of his son’s ever-growing resentment toward him.
Our kids will need to see their grandpa…
“Yeah,” his Dad whispers and I shake out of my reverie. “Yeah, that is amazing stuff.”
Better Late Than Never Page 12
