Love to Love Her YAC (31 page)

Rhiannon – 10:00 PM

I
’m toweling off
from my bath when my phone starts to ring. My heart accelerates in
the hope it might be Blake, but the goofy face showing on the
screen lets me know it’s Tawny instead. Smiling, I press Accept and
hold the phone to my ear.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” I tease.

“It’s a Friday night, I
should
be out
partying,” she replies.

“Not if you’re lame like your big sister. So
far all I’ve done is take a bath and eat brownies.” Quickly I twist
the damp ends of my hair into a towel and tie the sash on my robe,
then head out to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of Shiraz.

“How come you’re not hanging out with your
boyfriend?” she asks as I replace the bottle in the fridge. My
spine tingles a little at her casual use of the B word.

“Sadly, he’s out of town this weekend.”

“Oh, I see.” Tawny falls silent, which tells
me something must be up. She isn’t normally one to ever stop
talking.

“What’s up, little T?” I ask, bracing myself
for her answer.

“It’s nothing,” she sighs. “I just wish you
could come back home.”

“Aww, you know I wish I could be there with
you.”

“Mom and Dad just don’t treat me normal
sometimes, you know? They act like I’m fragile or something. It
drives me bananas. They keep trying to talk to me about my
feelings
, like we learned in that support group. Sometimes I
just don’t feel like talking about stupid cancer.”

I hold my breath in, my heart hurting for
her. I hurt for our parents, too—this is a realm of parenting they
were entirely unprepared for.
What to Expect
doesn’t contain
a section on how to talk to your child about dying.

I let my breath out in a steady, calming
stream. “Well why don’t we talk about something else then?” I say
finally, trying my best to sound chipper.

“Good idea. Let’s talk about you and your
handsome boyfriend.”

I laugh. “What do you want to know?”

“Well…you never told me how you guys first
met.”

I chuckle as I recount the night of my
birthday, leaving out certain parts that aren’t meant to fall on
innocent ears. Tawny seems to be hanging on my every word, clearly
happy to be absorbed in something that isn’t related to her
illness, so I find myself telling her more. I open up to her about
the way Blake told me he had a girlfriend and how difficult it was
to be just friends after that. She laughs and gasps and huffs and
moans, showing excitement and indignation at all the appropriate
moments.

When I reach the end of my tale Tawny says,
“We should look her up!”

“Look who up?” I’m rocking back in my
computer chair, nursing the last of my wine as I stare up at the
ceiling.

“His ex! What did you say her name was?
Jordan something?”

“Oh…yeah. I don’t know her last name
though.”

“
Please
, you’re talking to the expert
here,” Tawny says.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” I
reply.

“Come on! Don’t you wanna at least know what
she looks like?”

“Hmm, I am a
teensy
bit curious.” I
giggle, feeling slightly warm and loose from the wine. “All right,
if you must. Go on and work your magic.”

I can hear her tapping away at a keyboard,
and it’s easy for me to picture her sitting in the dark study,
bathed in the blue glow from the monitor with Sophie curled up at
her feet.

“This was almost too easy,” she muses. “Blake
is only friends with one ‘Jordan’—it has to be her. Jordan
Peters
.”

I tap the touchpad on my laptop to wake it
up, then navigate to Facebook. When I type in Jordan Peters, the
first name listed belongs to a pretty brunette who lives in
Sacramento.
Bingo
. I click on her name, and her full profile
pops up.

“Wow, she has a public profile, what are the
odds?” I say. “It’s like she’s
asking
us to stalk her.”

It’s then I notice Tawny’s silence. Almost in
the same moment, my eyes scan down to Jordan’s timeline, and my
breath catches in my throat. A large, grainy photo of Blake and
Jordan stares back at me. Their faces are close together, and
they’re both smiling (although if I had to hazard a guess I’d say
he’s at least a little drunk). The status message above the photo
says “Jordan Peters – at Max Patch Bar & Grill with Blake
Rawlings.” The time stamp beneath it reads “about an hour ago.”

Blake – 9:15 AM

G
od
damn
whatever it was that brought on the hangover I’m having. My skull
feels like it’s about to split open, and my mouth is dry as if it
was stuffed with cotton balls. I slowly open my eyes and begin
trying to work out where I am as I take in the pale green carpet,
the old wooden TV console and blue chair. It’s literally been years
since I slept in my mom’s house, but the loud ticking of the clock
in the front hall is the same, as is the
plink
plink
of the perpetual drip from the kitchen faucet.

I roll over to bury my head in the back of
the couch, and the cold, hard facts of last night are there staring
me in the face, utterly inescapable. I had cut myself off soon
after returning to the table from the bathroom, knowing I needed to
be able to drive since I didn’t want to rely on anyone else for a
ride. Unfortunately, my mind had continued to spin, and Jordan’s
advances had only become more brazen as the night wore on.

I kissed Jordan
. Holy hell, it hurts
to think it, and it hurts even worse knowing the memory is a real
one. I suppose the case could be made that
she
was the one
who kissed me—but I also know I reciprocated, at least a little
bit. My only consolation in this whole fucked up mess is that it
only took me a few seconds to come to my senses and push her away.
It had been Jordan—being with her was like breathing, it was just a
habit that came naturally, without my having to think about it.
We’ve been together for so long it took my alcohol-soaked brain
longer than it should’ve to catch up to the fact it was wrong. The
thought that it could have possibly gone further makes me flinch in
self-disgust.

I check my phone; the battery is almost dead.
No new text messages means no reply from Rhiannon last night after
the photos she sent – seems odd. God I miss her. I’ve grown used to
holding her at night, waking up next to her and breathing her in
each morning.

I go to the hall bathroom and splash water on
my face repeatedly until I feel marginally more awake, then scrub
vigorously at my cheeks with a hand towel. I know what I have to
do— if there’s one silver lining to what happened last night (or
was it early this morning?), it’s that I now feel perfectly
resolved in taking the necessary next step. Jordan had acted pretty
shocked when I didn’t follow her home last night; she has to
already know something is up.

I go into the kitchen, where Mom stands in
her housecoat and slippers, pushing the lever down on the toaster.
These days she looks older than her years, more haggard. Her face
is beginning to wrinkle, and there are bags under her eyes. She
also seems to have lost more weight. She didn’t take it well when
Ted, her last boyfriend, moved out a couple of months ago.

“Toast?” she asks, looking up at me as I
enter.

“Sure, thanks,” I reply, knowing it might be
best not to do this on an empty stomach. I plug in my phone next to
the ancient waffle iron Mom used to be obsessed with and now
probably hasn’t used in years.

“Are those the same clothes you came home in
last night?” Mom says. She isn’t judging, merely curious.

“I’m gonna change,” I tell her as I stand
over the counter and hold down speed dial 3. I count the
rings—seven—before Jordan’s voicemail message comes on. “Shit,” I
mutter under my breath. I press End and hold down the 3 again. I
have no choice but to keep calling until she answers. I can’t hang
around here forever, waiting for her to become available.

Finally, on the fourth try she picks up. Mom
drops a slice of buttered toast in front of me on a Chinet plate as
Jordan answers. “Blake? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine. You just weren’t answering.”

She laughs. “Aww, were you worried about me?
I was just in the shower, silly.” She got it wrong, but I don’t
bother correcting her.

“Can I come over?” I ask.

“Sure, I guess. I don’t know why you didn’t
just stay here last night. But I know you haven’t seen your mom in
a while.”

I sigh.
Guess she didn’t take that hint
either
. “Okay, I’m heading out in five. See you soon.” I press
the button to end the call, then fold the piece of toast and stuff
the entire thing in my mouth as I go out the back door to grab my
duffel out of the truck. Back in the bathroom I change into a
different pair of jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, slick on some
deodorant, then shave using the bar of Ivory soap I find on the
sink. I use a splash of water to comb my hair off my face and try
but fail to tame a cowlick in the back.

“Okay, Mama,” I say as I walk back into the
kitchen, bag in hand. “I’m going over to Jordan’s, and from there I
have to head back to Carson City, but I promise I’ll be back to
visit you soon.” I gather her frail body in my arms, hugging her
around her bony shoulders. “In fact, you should come visit me. I
can take you out, show you the sights.”

She smiles faintly, nodding as if to
acknowledge something we both know will never happen. “Well, drive
safely,” she says, sounding resigned. “Call me when you get back if
you think of it. Let me know you’re safe.”

I haven’t called my mother to let her know I
made it home safely in years, but I nod in affirmation anyway.
“Love you,” I say as I yank my phone charger from the wall and bang
out the back door, feeling guilty for going off and leaving her
like this. I know I don’t spend as much time with her as I should.
I’m a shitty son.

I toss everything in the front seat and run
around to the driver’s side, suddenly in a hurry to get this over
with as soon as humanly possible. I eye my phone, wondering if I
should call Rhiannon, but then decide to wait till I’m on my way
back. That way the next time I talk to her, I’ll be completely free
of the shackles that have been holding me back—even if they haven’t
been holding me back as much as they
should
have. I start
the truck and back out, driving directly to the end of my
relationship.

Rhiannon – 12:00 PM

I
was still
languishing in bed when Blake started calling around a half hour
ago. I had been awake for a while, just gazing at the wall,
unwilling to budge from the warmth and safety of my sheets. He’s
called four times now, but I keep hitting Ignore. I know eventually
I’ll have to talk to him, but for now I’d rather just forget.

Of course, that’s easier said than done. The
truth is, that picture on Facebook is
all
I’ve been thinking
about.
Maybe there’s an explanation
, I reason. After all,
Blake had said they were friends for a long time before they
started dating. It makes sense that he would meet up with her when
he’s in town.

But deep down I know that isn’t the way it
happened. They look like a
couple
in that picture, not exes
who just broke off a six year relationship. Besides, Blake should
have told me he would be hanging out with Jordan. What he told me
instead was that he was going home to visit his
mom
. I don’t
want to be overbearing, but this seems like a pivotal piece of
information that got left out, and I’m having a hard time believing
it was unintentional. Obviously he hadn’t known I would find
out.

And now he’s calling me. A lot.
Why
?
To tell me he slept with his ex-girlfriend? Or that he’s getting
back together with her? Or maybe it’s that he never broke up with
her in the first place. Regardless of the reason, I’ve never felt
so
played
. And then of course there are the pictures I
sent—Jesus, do I feel stupid. He was probably
with her
when
he got them. Yuck.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and
look down as I wiggle my toes. Maybe I’ll go get a pedicure
today—see if Ruthie and Corinne want to join me. I could use the
distraction. I stand and stretch my arms above my head, letting out
a yawn. I turn to look out the window and see golden light
reflecting off the rain puddles in the parking lot. The clouds are
thin gray wisps in the sky, slowly burning away in the noonday
sun.

My phone begins ringing again and causes me
to jump. My feet get caught beneath me, and I face plant into the
pillows. I come up sputtering to see Blake’s face lighting up my
screen again.
Yeah, that’s about right.

Blake – 2:00 PM

T
hat did not go
well. Maybe I was too matter of fact. I know I probably seemed
detached. Honestly I just wanted to get the hell out of there, and
stopping to break up with Jordan seemed like an irksome chore I
needed to check off before I could get on the road and on with my
life.

At some point during the conversation I
realized I was being an asshole, and I softened a bit. After all, I
had loved this girl for most of my adult life. Unfortunately,
Jordan saw just the opportunity she had been waiting for the second
I started to let my guard down—she swooped in like a bird of prey
and began trying to manipulate the situation like she always has.
In similar situations in the past, she’s been quite successful at
preying on my vulnerability, but today I’d had enough. Tensions
escalated, and we were at each other’s throats before I could even
identify the point at which the conversation strayed.