Then Kiss Me (2 page)

Part of that stems from a lack of self-confiden
ce.  I might have had
better self-esteem as a woman in her twenties than I did in middle school, but I still had a way to go.  Barry didn’t help that much, either.

But that’s not important to my story.  After the divorce, I decided to move in with my parents.  I had nowhere else to go.  My parents had moved a few years earlier.  They’d lived their whole lives in Pueblo, Colorado, and that’s where I grew up.  Now, though, they lived in a small town called Winchester.  I’d only visited a few times since they’d moved there.  My sister and her family lived in Colorado Springs, and that was just a hop, skip, and a jump away from Winchester.  So, basically, I thought,
Everyone
else is there, so why not me, too?
  So I put the few things I gave a shit about in my little Versa and headed to Winchester.

I arrived there in just a couple of hours and was greeted by my parents, my sister, and her kids.  I
got out of the car, feeling a little awkward.  Divorce is frowned upon in the Williams household, and I’d already had an earful
over the phone
from the whole family.  I was hoping we were past that. 
Only one way to find out.

My mom and dad met me in the driveway and hugged me as I got out of the car.  Then Karen embraced me.  Her cute, blonde-haired three-year-old son hugged my leg, and she held her six-month-old, also a boy, in her arm.  His bottom
was tucked into the crook of her
elbow, propped up on her hip.  Dad looked at me with sad eyes and hugged me again.  We walked into the house
in silence
.  Then we all sat at the kitchen table.  Karen’s toddler Mac (I never understood why she and her husband had named the kid that) played in the living room with Mega
Bloks
, and Karen laid the baby (Jack…oh, wasn’t that cute?
 
Jack and Mac!
)
in
a playpen next to Mac.  Then she joined us at the table.

“Coffee?” mom asked.

“Love some,” I said. 
“An ashtray, too, please.”

Now…before you judge me, I want you to know that I’ve since quit smoking.  But…that’s part of my story too.  Just bear with me.  So, I asked my mom for an ashtray.

“Oh, Casey, you still have that filthy habit?”

I sighed.  I’d heard this shit before. 
Lots of times.
  Frankly, I wasn’t in the mood.  “Please don’t start, mother.”  That was as civil a sentence as I could muster.

Dad lit up his own cigarette (now you know where I got it).  “Go easy on her, dear.  She’s gone through a rough time, and now she’s had to humble herself to move back in with us.  You can preach to her about smoking later.”
  Thanks, dad.

Mom frowned but placed a clean ashtray on the table.  Mom didn’t really worry about my health; I’m certain about that much.  She was more concerned with the fact that I was dirtying her extremely clean house.  (I wish I was exaggerating
, but that was how I felt at the time
.)  At least dad was an ally.  Or maybe he thought
I
was.  Mom probably made him smoke outside most of the time.

So I lit up a cigarette and looked at Karen.  “So what are you doing here?”  I inhaled as I looked at my older sister.  She was giving me a snide look, probably ready to lecture me about secondhand smoke around her children.  I suspected she was visiting our parents because she just wanted to rub my nose in the fact that she had a successful
seven
-year marriage. 
Perfect Karen and Black Sheep Casey, a study in opposites.
  Anyway, I wanted to hear her response to my direct question.  I knew she visited mom and dad frequently, but had she wanted to make my homecoming less meaningful with her own presence? 
If so, she wasn’t about to admit it.

“I thought you might need your whole family with you.  Besides, I thought you would want to see the kids.”  Karen tossed her beautiful long blonde hair behind her shoulder, her cool blue eyes piercing into me.

Oh, yes, and the kids.  Karen had a perfect family.  I was pretty sure she and her husband had a dog too, just so they could be like other
normal
families.

But then I guessed it was actually a thoughtful gesture.  I needed to chill the fuck out and stop looking at my sister as an enemy.  “Thanks,” I said, exhaling a deep lungful of smoke up toward the ceiling.  The nicotine was beginning to take the edge off my nerves.

Karen coughed lightly and said, “Anything for my little sis.”

Mom placed a green mug
full
of coffee in front of me.  “Still take it black, or has Denver made you want vanilla cream or cappuccino?”

Well, it was no secret I loved my froufrou coffee, but that was beside the point.  “Mom, please.”  I exhaled another deep breath.  “Black’s perfect.”  I
had
to get along with my parents (my mom) if I was going to live with them.  I swallowed my pride—and all the nasty words in my throat—and said, “Thank you.  I appreciate it, mom.”

Dad put his hand on mine.  “So, honey, tell us all about it.”

“Nothing to tell,” I said, snubbing out my cigarette.  “Barry and I went our separate ways.  We weren’t meant for each other, so why waste our lives being miserable?”

“Casey,” mom said.  “I don’t think you’re being realistic.  The bottom line is this:  you weren’t ready to get married.  You rushed into it.  And, besides that, you’ve always had a romantic view of life.  It shows in your art,”—she lowered her voice slightly for emphasis—“and it shows in your choice of careers.  You thought that if you love someone, marriage is easy.  It’s
not
easy—it’s very hard work.”

Jesus fucking Christ.
  We’d already had this same conversation more than once.  Oh, yes, unrealistic, romantic Casey.  She lives in the clouds
, wears rose-colored glasses,
and has no clue.  I really wasn’t in the mood for another lecture.  So I cut her off.  “Mom, please,
save
it.  So I made a mistake.  I’ll live with the consequences.  It’s not a reflection on you just because my marriage wasn’t a Cinderella story.”  Besides, I thought, you still have perfect Karen and her goddamn storybook marriage.  Eat it up, ma.

My mom bit her lip and changed the subject, but she wasn’t prepared to stop digging at me.  And what had I expected really? 
I think my mother felt like she had totally failed with me, and now she had her second chance to make me a dream daughter.

I don’t think so.

“
I know that
,” my mom said.  She patted my hand in what should have been a motherly fashion.  Inste
ad, it seemed condescending.  “But l
ook at yourself, Casey.  Your hair is lifeless; your face is pale; and you are
much
too thin.  You haven’t been taking good care of yourself.”

Well,
fuck, mother
.  Why don’t you tell me how you
really
feel?  I held back the sigh.  That would have just made it worse.  “I know, mom.  I’ve been a little distracted.”  And, besides, my hair wasn’t
that
bad.  I’d just had it pulled back in a ponytail for the drive.  I’d had to pack all my shit in my car (and I’d perspired a little doing it) and I’d had the windows down for the drive.  So my hair was probably stringy from the wind blowing through the car and a little sweaty, but it didn’t have split ends, and it was trimmed neatly.  It was also dark brown, its usual color.  As of the time I sat at my mother’s kitche
n table, I had let my hair grow
long and it was its natural color and natural curliness—just a little curl to give it volume, although I always thought I would have loved super-curly hair like Keri Russell’s when she wore it in its natural style.
  Mine wasn’t cute like that.  It usually curled where and how I didn’t want it to.  But I looked okay. 
Really.

But I should have known my mother would find something else to complain about.  I could never make her happy.  I was already wondering why I had moved here.  Why hadn’t I just stayed in Denver?  I had a decent job, a few friends
(well, maybe…they were all starting to take sides, and Barry seemed to be in favor)
, and the only criticism from mom was in the occasional phone call.

“Honey,” she said, “you’ve got t
o start taking better care of yo
urself.”

“Yeah, I know, mom.”  I lit another cigarette.  That’d piss her off.

“And that’s not the way to be doing it.”

Knew it.
  I looked up at her, almost daring her to say something else.  I flicked a nonexistent ash in the ashtray, glad for the moment of silence.  I glanced at Karen and my dad and saw how uncomfortable they were.  I sipped my coffee and stood up.  Leave it to me to fuck shit up.  “I guess I’d better bring my stuff in.”  Make it official and all.

I walked to the door.  I hadn’t even realized I was muttering under my breath.  “Just like old times.”

And
I
also
didn’t realize my dad was right behind me until I heard him.  “I’ll help you, honey,” he said, not acknowledging my remark.  Yes, I had an attitude. 
I was young, and my mother and I had never really gotten along—
and
I had a lot of growing up to do, a lot of resentment and bitterness to let go of.  But, at this point in time, I hadn’t even begun to let go of it.

“Thanks, dad,” I said as he followed me out to the car.  There wasn’t much else to say.

I stomped my cigarette out in the driveway.  With dad’s help, it didn’t take long to bring my stuff in.  I had a lot of art supplies, a couple of suitcases of clothes (a homeless shelter received
the rest of them), and a box or
two of miscellaneous stuff.  I had a small bag of makeup and girlie shit like that—
antiperspirant, cologne, shampoo…
all the good stuff.  But that was my life…right there in that car.  That was it.

We carried it into a guest room.  In less than fifteen minutes, we had it all inside the house.  My mom peeked in the room as we brought the last of it in.  “Dear, this will be your room for as long as you want to stay here.”

I supposed my mom was trying to make amends.  I walked over and hugged her.  If she could be an adult, so could I. 
“Thanks, mom.”
  But I couldn’t bring myself to say anything else right now.  It wasn’t safe.

“Dinner will be ready in a while.  I don’t know if you want to clean up first.  You know where everything is.  Help yourself.”

In my mother’s polite way, she was requesting that I do just that—clean up.  I understood my mother’s subtext.  I smiled (it was an effort, but I smiled nonetheless).  I took my cue and soaked in a nice warm bath.  I dunked my head under the water and enjoyed letting the warmth penetrate my bones.  I needed it.

Karen tapped on the door, letting me know dinner was ready to be served.  Grudgingly, I got out of the tub and toweled off.  I threw on a pair of clean jeans and a
Godsmack
t-shirt and dried off my hair, letting the wet brown curls cascade down my shoulders.  I walked, barefooted, to the kitchen and sat down at the table.  I suppose I should’ve offered to help.

Mom smiled with some difficulty.  “Darling, you’d feel better about yourself if you made—
”  She
broke off when she caught glances from both dad and me.  “Never mind, hon.  You’re tired.  Relax.”

We all ate dinner mostly in silence.  Mac chattered off and on, and the baby gurgled with every bite of food.  He was still learning, I realized, and wondered how he could possibly grow when he seemed to get more food on his face and the tray than he did in his mouth.

After dessert (mom’s specialty was dessert, so it was surprising I hadn’t grown up a fat ass), I bowed out, claiming I was fatigued from the trip and the events of the day.  It was partially true.  In reality, though, I was more worn out from all the familial contact.

I dug out my sketch pad and pastels and doodled, lying on the bed, knowing I’d gone from a bad situation to an almost worse one.  I finally turned off the lamp and lay my head on the pillow.  But I didn’t fall asleep for the longest time, even though I was exhausted.  The life I had known in the short time I’d lived as an adult was now gone, and I lay there trying to figure out how to fix it.

Chapter Two

I WOKE UP
early the next morning.  It was barely light outside
, the early April morning resisting the sun
.  I threw on a sweater and slippers, knowing it would be chilly outside, and went out back.  I sat in a lawn chair and breathed in the crisp, clean air (un-Denver air) and watched the sun rise.  I found out quickly that there is nothing like a sunrise in Winchester, the vivid reds and oranges fighting each other to be seen on the clear horizon.  Winchester might have been tucked in the foothills, but to the east, just past Colorado Springs, lay miles upon miles upon miles of some of the flattest land you’ve ever seen.  So the sunrise was spectacular, and watching it gave me hope.