John and Lana exchange a strange look. “Lana, I think it’s time we tell them.”
My heart sinks, automatically jumping to a million terrible conclusions. “Is everything okay?”
“Come sit down, girls. John and I have some news to share.” We take seats in the living room and wait with bated breath for their news. “John and I are selling the house.”
Bex jumps up, outraged. “What? Why? You’re leaving us?”
“Rebekah, you’re eighteen, you’re both going away to school. There is just no sense in me keeping the house when we plan to travel for a few years.”
“I guess that makes sense.” I’m trying to understand their need to move on after we move away, but I can’t help feeling a little like we’re being abandoned. “It’s going to be weird to not have you and this place to come back to.”
John takes out a piece of paper from his pocket and hands it to Bex. She opens it and we see it is a realtor listing for a cute little two-story house. We stare at them, confused. “Did you buy this house? Where is it? I thought you wanted to travel?”
“It’s located between your schools, only five blocks.
It’s our graduation gift to you both.”
“Are you serious? Oh my god, I love you so much, thank you! This is incredible.” Bex jumps up, screaming, hugging Lana and John.
I sit there in shock. This can’t be real. They bought us a house; my own mother abandoned me, and these two incredible people love us so much they bought us a house.
Lana’s voice snaps me out of my fog. “Lexi, honey, are you okay?”
“No one has ever done anything like this for me, Lana. It’s too much,” I say, weeping. She pulls me into a hug and everyone’s cheeks are wet with tears.
John clears his throat, wiping tears from his cheeks. “We love you girls so much and there was no way we could go away without knowing you girls would be okay. Once we saw how much rent was going to be, our minds were set. This way you will always have somewhere safe to call home and we have somewhere to stop by when we tire of travelling. It isn’t anything spectacular, but I know you girls can make it a lovely home.”
“And it has a guest house out back that you could turn into a studio,” Lana adds.
“Thank you. I love you guys.” I can’t stop the flow of tears. I glance at Bex who is a crying mess too.
“We love you, too. We’re so proud of you both,” John says, choking up again.
“We have so much faith in our girls. We know you will build a wonderful life there,” Lana adds.
We spend the next week packing up our lives into boxes.
Lana and John put most of their things in storage but the rest we load into a moving truck and drive the hour and a half to our new home and life.
The house is even more adorable in person. It has a quirky charm with bright colors, like Lana’s house, and the neighborhood looks safe and welcoming. After a few hours, we are exhausted from unpacking and together we make one last meal together as a family. Lana and John are set to leave tomorrow on a three-month tour of Italy. It all feels like it’s happening so fast.
We settle in, surrounded by boxes, and spend our last night together, laughing and sharing stories.
The morning is full of quiet reflection. Goodbyes are coming, giving an air of sadness to our new happy home. We know they’ll be back soon enough but saying goodbye to the only parents that have ever loved me is breaking my heart. When we arrive at the airport, there is no hope in stopping the river of tears. In my heart, I know she isn’t leaving me in the true sense, and she’ll only be just a phone call away. She has been the most loving and wonderful person I know; she has the truest heart, so full of light and love.
“I’m a better person today because I was dropped on your doorstep.”
“Oh, honey, you are a kind-hearted, wonderful girl who deserves nothing short of a happy life. I’m the one who was blessed with you both. When I was told I couldn’t have kids I thought part of me would always be missing, until you girls brought so much light into my life. You changed my life, and answered a lifetime of prayers and wishes. Because of you, I got to be a mom.”
One last group hug and we send them on their adventure with promises to keep in touch and stay out of trouble. Arm in arm, Bex and I walk out to our car.
“And then there were two,” Bex says through tears, looping her arm in mine.
“Come on, sis, let’s go home.”
Chapter Twelve
Four years later...
The phone ringing snaps me out of the work trance I’ve been in for hours; hunched over the table going over the contact sheets from my latest shoot. Stretching my arms above my head, I pick up the phone.
“Alexa Raine Photography.” God, I love the sound of that. I’m a professional photographer with a full booking calendar; it’s been a lot of hard work, but a dream come true.
Mrs. Neilson continues to tell me all about another idea she has for her daughter Sarah’s engagement shoot this weekend. Sarah is a close friend. She, Bex, and I used to work together in college. Lord have mercy, this must be her twentieth call in the last month. Each with something new she saw on Pinterest. She’s footing the bill, so I tell her how interesting her ideas are. Poor Sarah, her mom must be driving her nuts. I appreciated the bride-to-be giving me the heads-up that her mother is so overbearing. It’s an exciting time for all of them so I try to accommodate her as much as I can.
After hanging up, I take out the contact sheet for the show, reminding myself that I need to go downstairs to start the placement and lighting in the gallery. Everything needs to be perfect for my show next weekend. The anxiety over a show is almost too much for me to bear. I only do a couple a year, thank the goddess. The rest of my time is spent meeting clients and working on their individual needs, and in my spare time, I plan my next show. The whole meetand-greet aspect of shows isn’t my thing but it’s important for the artist to be on site to shake hands to justify them spending their hard-earned money on my work. It’s been a blessing that my work has done as well as it has.
I graduated from the photography program with a wealth of knowledge and massive portfolio. According to my professors, my work is thought-provoking, and I have a talent for evoking emotion.
My latest show is entitled, Graceful Sacrifice, and debuts tomorrow. I spent months with the local ballet company, documenting their struggle and dedication to their art. The pain dancers endure is astonishing to me, all for the love of dance. The photos I chose are a mixture of the grace and effortless beauty of their movement countered by the agony of the craft, the way they bruise and bleed for their art. I can’t stop looking at my selections and wondering if I picked the best of the best. Are they lit perfectly? Did I do them justice?
I’m so grateful Lana gave us a house. I’ve transformed the guest house out back into my own studio over a small gallery to display my work. It’s really given me a chance to stand out in this industry.
Bex walks in carrying two coffees and a bag of what I hope is some sort of sugary pastry in one hand. The other hand is cradling a kitten that was abandoned two nights ago outside the shelter she volunteers at. She drops the coffee and snacks on my desk, takes one look at the sheets I’ve been hunched over and rolls her eyes. “You picked the best ones, they’re lit so perfectly, it’s heaven itself shining down on them, stop already. Every year you turn into this insanely obsessive perfectionist. You are amazing, your work is amazing, the show will be brilliant.”
“Love you, Bex. What did you bring me?”
“Caffeine, sugar, icing, and grease. What else do artists eat for breakfast?”
“Self-loathing and neurosis?”
“Shut up! Did I miss Mrs. Neilson’s call?”
I start laughing. “Just hung up, she wanted to let me know that if I cut a heart-shaped hole in cardboard and place it over my camera lens it will play with the lighting and make precious little hearts everywhere.”
“She does realize you’r
e a professional and went to school for this stuff? That maybe, just maybe, you know more than her?”
“Customer is always right. Just a few more days and we won’t have to see her again.”
“Until the wedding day, and all the babies Sarah has.”
I groan at the thought of a lifetime with Mrs. Neilson’s phone calls.
“How’s the tiniest fur baby ever?” I ask, petting Newt between his ears. He’s so small.
“He’s doing great, he needed me to bring him home last night, I couldn’t leave him there all alone. I’ll swing by the office on our way to the club.”
I roll my eyes. Left to her own devices, Bex would have a menagerie of animals that would shame a zoo. Each one is precious to her and she has a constant companion of the furry, and sometimes not-so-furry variety.
Bex and I worked at Shots, a club downtown, through college. Working there was a blessing and a curse; we made killer money but like all bars, it’s not the best place to meet nice guys. Bex and I had become experts at spotting and rejecting asshats. Once we finished school, we were ready to move on. But for some reason that didn’t stop us from going there once a week to let loose.
Three tequila shots later, I spot Christopher sitting at the end of the bar, a collection of college girls around him. Looking smart, sexy, and predatory; the perfect trap. He’s handsome, and says all the right things to get in your pants or get you drunk and convince you to pose naked for his art. He’s charming and is dripping in old money. I can see why he attracts the girls, hell, I know from experience. He’s the cautionary tale we’re told but never listen to, an initiation into the world of handsome, manipulative artists.
I met Christopher, a photographer, during school, when I interned for him for a semester. He was incredibly knowledgeable and charming. At the time, he made me feel like I was his greatest muse, that there was something special about me that lit up his creativity, that getting drunk would help the creative juices flow, that it was my idea to strip for him. He tried his damnedest to get in my pants but settled for the half-naked pictures. My refusal to have sex with him only spurs his interest, but I’ve seen behind the curtain. What other girls see as charming and professional, I now see as classic entitled douchebag syndrome.
“Alexa, looking sexy as hell tonight. When are you going to let me show you how exquisite we could be together?”
“When you wake up as something other than a metrosexual hipster douchebag,” I say to his face. He just smiles like the Cheshire cat and walks away with his arm slung around his latest victim.
Sadly, my constant rejection and verbal abuse hasn’t deterred him from showing up at Shots periodically to chat me up. I know what he wants, what he always wants. Some nights, I can feel my resolve wavering. I’m so damn tired of being alone. Bex keeps pushing me to date or at least hook up with someone but the thought of anyone but Noah still makes my skin crawl. Bex says, sex is good for the soul. The only thing my soul needs is a strong cup of coffee in one hand and my camera in the other. And Noah, my heart whispers.
Five years. I haven’t heard from him or my brother.
Five long years of not knowing if they’re alive. And not a day goes by that I don’t think about them and the day they both disappeared from my life.
“Earth to Lexi.” Bex’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. When I meet her gaze, she has a sad smile on her beautiful face; she knows where my mind was wandering, where it always wanders. We have a silent conversation; You good? Yeah, I’m good. This really is the best way to spend a night. Any time spent with her is a blast. We dance our little hearts out and at one point we end up behind the bar pouring shots and mixing drinks with Sarah and Nate, like old times. Then shaking our asses until the wee hours of the morning.
I wake up around noon, proud that I managed to wake up without a hangover. I shuffle downstairs to the kitchen, taking my coffee and bagel with me out back to my studio. Having the studio in our house has been a life saver. I could never thank Lana and John enough for giving us this house. I love being able to lose myself in my work whenever the urge takes over, and not having to rent a studio space is also a life saver.
Bex wanders out an hour or so later, bringing the coffee press with her, knowing I'll need a refill. “What’s on the docket today, boss?”
She works as my assistant on most of my shoots but also as my favorite model. She’s stunning, and her photos always sell for top dollar. “Obsessing over the show. Sarah’s engagement photo shoot is tomorrow. I was also reading up on an idea for the next show. I’d like to do something about scars and tattoos, how people use ink to heal old wounds. Mine have talked me off the ledge more than a few times.”
“That’s a great idea. Where do we start?”
“Talk to tattoo parlors, I guess. See if they have any clients who might be interested in telling their story through photographs.”
“I’m on it, I’ll book a few consults for the week after your show.” She sits in the office chair, starting up the computer. “There’s an email from the PI, Lex.”
“Really!” No news is always bad news when it comes to trying to find my brother, so any time he messages me I get excited. “What does it say,” I ask, leaning over her shoulder to read. “Shit, he just wants more money? He hasn’t even found anything yet.”
“Don’t get mad but how long are you going to keep this up? You’ve been paying this guy for a year, with no leads. Maybe he’s ripping you off, I mean, how would you even know if he were?”
“I don’t understand how it can be this hard to find him.”
“Maybe he changed his last name like you? I’m not saying you should stop, I just worry about you getting your hopes up only to be disappointed.”
“I know it’s a long shot, you’re right. This guy has had a year of my money and hasn’t found anything. Maybe it’s time to finally give up.” My shoulders slump; saying the words causes a stab of pain in my heart. I don’t want to give up. I just don’t know what else to do.
“Lana always says, once you stop looking for something, it usually finds you,” she mimics with a hopeful smile. I give her a quick hug and try to go back to work, feeling defeated.
Over the years, I’ve tried to search for Matty on my own but it’s impossible. The only tool I have up my sleeve is the internet and that hasn’t gotten me anywhere either. There are too many people out there in the world and he doesn’t seem to want to be found. It has occurred to me that he might be trying to find me as well. So, I joined Facebook and added Young to my profile name, on the off chance he might be looking for me.
More than anything, I want to reach out to Noah. The years have passed so quickly and what could I say besides, “I miss you, sorry I got your sister killed”? Anyway, his mom was clear about not wanting me in his life. I have to respect that. Too much time has passed. I wonder if he really was as I remember him, or if it was young love that made him shine like perfection. His kindness and love still live within me. I still feel him on my lips and fingertips, his memory a vivid fantasy that I live in every day. Could his memory be skewed by years of longing or was he truly my soulmate?
Either way, he has become the standard I measure guys against, which they fall miserably short of, in Noah’s shadow. Where does that leave me? Alone, and longing for someone I haven’t seen in half a decade. Pining away for someone who wants nothing to do with me, who blames me for his sister’s death. And searching for a lost brother who doesn’t want to be found.
I know they’re out there, somewhere. Why hasn’t Matty been looking for me? Has Noah moved on? It’s been years, of course he has. He could be married with kids by now. The thought physically hurts me. Another woman living my happily ever after. I’m on a never-ending rollercoaster, wavering between anger and sadness. I’m tired of feeling lost at sea, wanting desperately to be found.
***
After Bex’s persistence, and several martinis, I finally relent and give my number to Christopher. He isn’t the best choice,
but I figure if I’m to start dating I may as well rip the BandAid off. I need to spend an evening in a man’s company and see how I feel at the end of the night.
So here I am, Friday night, getting ready for my date. I feel like I should be excited and obsessing over what to wear, but I honestly don’t care if he likes my outfit or thinks I’m pretty. I’m simply going through the motions because this is what normal people are supposed to do.
Wearing black skinny jeans, a flowing white top with blue embroidery that Bex says makes me look elegant but not sexy, and some blue chucks, because date or no date, I’m not wearing heals. I’ve never really gotten the hang of them; I guess I prefer my feet planted firmly on the ground. I glance at the clock. He’ll be here in ten minutes, so I slap on some mascara and lip gloss, and head downstairs to have a glass of wine to calm my nerves and combat my urge to cancel this farce.
Here I sit in the living room, waiting for this night to be over when it hasn’t even begun yet. Why can’t I move on? Why can’t I fall in love with someone else? Am I destined to spend the rest of my life alone, pining away for a guy I loved when I was sixteen?
Christopher knocks on my door twenty minutes late. Strike one. I can’t handle people being late, it is a sign of disrespect in my eyes. I contemplate pretending I’m not home but reconsider. I can go on one date a year, it won’t kill me, and maybe he has a legitimate reason for being late. When I open the door, he’s staring down at his phone, texting. He doesn’t glance up until I clear my throat.
“You ready?” is all he says before turning his back to me and walking toward his car. No compliments or friendly banter; nothing. I stare at his back in annoyed disbelief for a few seconds before sighing and locking up. It seems his charming act is just for blushing co-eds because the version I’m getting is kind of a dick. I open my own door and climb into his car.
“Where we headed?” I ask with a smile, determined to put a positive spin on tonight.
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