Spill Over (7 page)

The phone rings. Dad answers. His voice is quiet. He tells people I’m unavailable. He takes messages and leaves them for me to see, but I don’t want to see them. Seeing messages of sympathy will mean that I need sympathy, that I’m deserving of sympathy, and really,
it could still be some big mistake
.

The pain and ache of it all crawls around me as I once again sit on the floor of Mom’s room, just waiting for her to come home and catch me in here.

“Antony
?” Dad stands in the doorway
.

“Don’t come in here,” I warn. Her ex-husband in her room is just… wrong.

“I won’t.” He shakes his head. “The silence is killing me.”

“Me, too.” But there’s nothing else to do. Talking and listening will only make me say or hear things I
don’t want to hear or know
.
Dad and I have walked around one another like shadows in a house that’s dying.

He’s been on the phone. I know he’s making “arrangements” which is why I don’t want to be here. Don’t want to talk. Don’t want to listen.

“There’s been an offer for—
”

“For what?” I snap.

Dad sighs. “For your mom to be buried at Arlington. With all the war correspondence and…”

Shit. Bury Mom. Mom. Tears
should
stream down my face
, but it’s like I’m too numb for them to come. No relief. Not for me.
Bury. Underground. Mom. Because she’s gone. She does
n’t need air. Bury, bury,
bury…
Coffins
. Suffocation. Mom.

I grab my hair with my hands and wish I could push or pull or scream loud enough to make everything different. Make everything change.
Instead I push it down. Push my tears
back. I start to lock it all up.
I can hold it in. H
old it back.
I
’ll
just have to push harder, work harder.

Dad steps toward me.

“Get out of her room!” I scream.
My voice is hoarse and not working right.

He back
s
up into the hallway.

I breathe in. T
he faint smell of her favorite perfume is here, but for how long? How long will it be before she fades away?

- - -

I’m in a suit. A fucking suit, because people want to tell me how sad they are and how much they’ll miss my mom. My mom. Not theirs.
Mine
.

Even Dad looks decent.

It’s all real.

This is
Mom’s
services in New York
. And I know she
wouldn’t think she was worthy of Arlington, but she deserves it
.
She won’t be buried while we’re here
.

A limo picks us up. Dad tries to tell me about money and the apartment. I know how much money Mom has. She’s always been open with me. We’re in a smaller apartment than we need to be in. She drives a small
Mercedes
when she drives. I have a shitload of money
,
and I don’t care. At all.

The room is packed. Who the hell organized a funeral at the Plaza? Mom would have rolled her eyes.
Dad and I are ushered to the front. People I would have bragged abou
t being friends with a week ago
shake my hand, give me hugs and wipe tears as I walk past, but I don’t care. Screw them all. Whatever sadness they feel is nothing like what’s chewing on my insides.
I don’t
feel their hands when we shake.
I do
n’t meet their eyes. W
e don’
t share the same pain. The same loss. No way.

Dad’s quiet next to me. He doesn’t put an arm around me. Doesn’t try to tell me everything will be okay. He knows as well as I do that none of this is okay. He’s close, though. And my dad is someone I never thought I’d gain
comfort from, but he’s
what I have right now.

My eyes well up with tears at that thought. Mom’s supposed to be all I have. Couldn’t Dad die in a boating accident or something and leave me my mom? If on
e parent had to go, why
did it have to be
her
?
I suck in a
breath and push it down and in—
into the steel cage I’m building to keep this locked up. I’m not going to be the
freak show
in the front row
that
can’t stop crying.

Someone stands at a podium.  He starts to talk about Mom
, Liz
Preston
.
I want to scream at him. That’s her news name. Mom’s Olivia and goes by Liv. For TV she goes by Elizabeth, and then by default, Liz. But it’s not her, not who she is. So seriously,
what the hell does he know? He didn’t know her. Not like I did. My stomach seizes up as I see the coffin behind him. Mom pre-picked it. No doubt. Simple, metal, functional. Shit. She’s
in
there. Mom’s
in
there.

I look away. This is hell. Really, and truly. This is hell.
Mom’s right there, but she isn’t the
re. Not anymore. Where
did she go and why can’t she come back?
I sit back in my chai
r. Dad’s eyes are on me. I know him
well enough to know he’s worried. Hell, I’m worried. I don’t know what to do with all the stuff
that’s mixing aro
und inside me, tearing me apart
in
to so many tiny shredded pieces. T
here’s no way I’ll ever be the same.

Pictures now. A huge screen rolls
down. They show some of Mom’s f
i
r
st broadcasts ever. It was for some New York City morning show.

Dad’s wiping tears. “I remember this,” he says. “We were
just
married. I was so proud.”

I don’t think of my parents as together. Not really. Is Dad sad about losing her? I
mean, it’s not like he lost her.
I lost her. Lost, lost. What a ridiculous thing to say. I didn’t lose her. She was killed. She was killed while doing something she was so passionate about
. S
h
e knew there were risks and
did it anyway.

What about me? Wasn’t I worth the risk to
not
do it? To stay home where it’s safe? What the
hell
?

I hear my name and my face goes back to the screen. Picture after picture of Mom and I. Behind the scenes at different places she reported from. Paris. London. Northern Africa. Egypt. Bosnia. Moscow. South Africa. Our brief trip to Antarctica. Chile.

I can’t do it. I can’t stay here and watch this. If I thought coming into this room was hard, how the hell am I going to leave without making nice to people who have no idea what it’s
like to lose their mom.
No one shares this with me.

There has to be some escape. Anything. I’d sell my soul right now for a little reprieve. Ten minutes. Two hours. Anything. I gotta get out of here. Mom’s here but not here. Everyone thinks they’re sad and broken up, but they don’t even know what it means.

I stand up.

D
ad
grabs my arm.

“I gotta go,” I say.

“Antony.” He shakes his head.

I jerk my arm away and head for the nearest d
oor. I don’t care where it goes.
I just need out of this room.
I push my way out of the doors into a narrow, quiet hallway.
Service hall.
Now what?
My heart says again,
something big.

Dad’s right behind me. “Antony, I’ve let you be quiet, but you’re scaring the hell out of me. I’ll help you however
I can, but you gotta talk
.”

“I don’t have to do anything.” I start up the hallway.

“Antony!” he calls out after me.

“Don’t wait up.” Now I know what I need. I need to call Trace
and David
to
see if we can set something up.
I need
some serious distraction.

Six

I don’t know what time it is
,
and I don’t care. The city lights have lit up a black sky for hours. I’m hammered, c
ompletely shit-faced drunk, and
I want it. Anything.
The more the better.
Maybe I’ll drink myself to death and dr
own in a pile of my own vomit…
O
kay, actually, I do still have limits. They’re just getting fuzzier with each drink.
David’s a good guy and keep
s
them coming.

For my going-away party
when I left for Seattle, I made my friends
keep it small. I
needed more than that
to give me a reprieve from how I feel
.
The place is packed.

“He
y.”
Finn nudges my shoulder. His dad is some kind of rock star or something.
A drummer I think.
Right now I forget, and I don’t care that I’ve forgotten.

“What’s up, man?” I put my arm around him. I’m down to my undershirt and suit pants. It’s what I have.

“I know you’re not really into this, but with your mom and all.”

It takes me a moment to focus on what he’s showing me. Neat l
ines of coke on a small glass tra
y. I grab his straw and suck a whole row up my nose. The rush h
its me hard and fast. I’ve
done this
once
before,
swore I’d never do it again,
but right now I don’t give a shit about anything. The room spins.

“
A
wesome, huh?” He pats my back.

I grin. That’s pretty much it. Every touch, every tingle shoots something like electricity through me. The only time I’ve
ever felt this is with a girl. And one of those girls is
walking toward me right now.

“Hey Gem.” I smile wide. I’m like flying over
the furniture, the living room.
I don’t even remember whose house we’re at
,
and it doesn’t matter. N
one of it matters.
Her blonde is perfectly smooth as always, and I can think of a million ways she’d
be a good distraction right now—all of which would make Amber blush.

“Are you finally ready
to stop playing hard to get?” H
er deep brown eyes open wide
,
and when her finger touches my chest,
tingles
of electricity
rocket
through my body. I’m awesome.

“Yep.” I nod. The movement spins the room again.

“Good.”

S
he tucks her fingers into the front of my pants
, the way she knows I like,
and pulls me with her. Each time her fingers move against my stomach I get more turned on. I don’t even care what she has planned. Anything would be good. Everything would be good.

“I’m sorry about your mom.” Her chest pushes into mine as she backs me into the wall of an empty bedroom. “Can I do something to make you feel better?” She licks her lips.

Damn. I grab her hand and rub it between my legs.
Gem
and I have been together before. W
e know each other. This is perfect.
And normally I’d really try to
make her feel good,
or whatever, but tonight, I
need escape.

“You want my mou
th there, or my hands?” Her lips touch my ear as she talks
.

“Do you
have to ask?” I step back to the bed and lie back
. T
he room whirls
.
Every touch from her light
s each
nerve in my body.

Gem’s hands
rub up my chest and down my abs. She teases me a few times, by undoing my zipper and then moving her hands up again. I’m nearly insane with my need to be touched by the time she opens my pants
. I close my eyes
while the room
flies in and out of focus
.
Now I just
hope the
combination of
alcohol
and Gem
erases what I need it to
.

- - -

I roll
over in the middle of the night.
Gem
’s
sprawled out next to me
, still in her clothes from the party
.
That’s good because having sex while in this state is never a good idea.