days like this
danielle ellison
Copyright © 2015 by Danielle Ellison
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First Edition: June 2015
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Days Like This/ by Danielle Ellison
1. Fiction 2. Romance 3. Coming of Age
Summary: A young woman returns to her hometown to care for her bipolar mother and must face the secrets she's been running from and the boy she once loved.
Cover design by Jenny Perinovic
Interior layout and formatting by Jenny Perinovic
Editing by Sarah Henning
ISBN 978-0-9962205-0-7 (paperback)
ISBN 978-0-9962205-1-4 (.Epub ebook)
ASIN B00VGTN85S (Kindle ebook)
to mom, for letting me go my own way.
1.
Cassie
ON THE PRETTIEST DAYS, when the sun was high in the sky, Mom pulled me out of school and drove us down the coast. On those days she would put the top down on the black convertible, and we’d fly.
This was a good day for flying.
I felt it in the air as soon as I’d woken up. The energy as the weather changed so it was the last bit of one thing, or the first hint of another. I couldn’t sit in biology class, not with birds flying around in the sun on the first beautiful day of April. Life was happening outside while we studied it inside, and I wanted to be part of it. Even though I was hundreds of miles away from the ocean, I wanted to feel like I wasn’t.
I rolled the windows all the way down as I drove ten over the speed limit up to Ogden Dunes Beach. My cell vibrated in the cup holder. I picked it up—Rohan—and then threw it back down. June probably told him I left in the middle of biology, so he decided to check up on me. Rohan didn’t get it. He didn’t understand me.
“Sweet Emotion” came on the radio, and I turned it up, let the beats overpower the wind. I hung my hand out the window and held it tight against the force. Then, I pressed harder so my hand wouldn’t move. Resistance was the key. If I fought it, if I didn’t give up, then I could fight anything.
Aerosmith blared around me, and I let myself wish Mom was here. This was her song, her whole playlist. I should’ve stopped listening to it, because every time I did, it was a reminder of what I’d been running from, but the woman knew music. Listening to her songs didn’t mean I was destined to be like her, did it?
On the pretty days when we’d drive, she put the car on cruise and I’d slide into her seat, like sliding into her shoes. It was easy and exciting as I’d steered us along the empty roads. Mom would stand up in the seat next to me. I’d watched her, studied her movements and the delicate way she did everything. I’d wanted to be just like her. She laughed into the wind and threw her hat out of the car; it was gone before I could catch a glimpse of it in the rearview mirror.
“This, Cassie, this is living,” she’d said. And she’d laughed this carefree laugh, like nothing could touch us.
I remember it so clearly. Her dark curls flickering in the wind, blue eyes sparkling. Head back, arms out, eyes closed—it was as if she’d let go. In the mirror, her face had looked joyful.
But that day, like so many before and after it, was all a trick. There were no pretty days with us, no peace, only days when she wasn’t as sick. Only days where I could let myself block out what had happened before, or what would happen tomorrow. There were only moments of happiness before moments of heartache when I woke up and she’d be lost somewhere inside her head. She wouldn’t be the mom I needed, and I’d be left alone, waiting for another pretty day.
Mid-chorus, my hand buckled against the wind; I shook it out and let it rest on the window frame. So much for resistance. Maybe it really was futile.
I left home for a lot of reasons I still didn’t know how to say, but one of them was Mom. I didn’t want to be anything like her, yet every single thing I did reminded me of her. Like spending today at the beach instead of being responsible Cassie. Maybe I couldn’t escape the future after all and I would end up being another version of her.
But this was just a day for me. It wasn’t a high before or after a low; it wasn’t the best moment before the worst or a fleeting day of happiness in an endless string of sadness. Tomorrow, I’d wake up at home and still be me. I wouldn’t be so low I couldn’t get up, so depressed I couldn’t even remember my own name. I wouldn’t be a number, a statistic, or another girl with a disease.
Not yet, anyway.
I turned up the radio before the last chorus, and sang so loud I didn’t have to think anymore.
2.
Graham
EVERY MORNING JOYCE Harlen waved at me from her front porch when I came home from my run. She always had a cup of coffee and some old record playing out of her open windows. Usually, she had two mugs in case I had time to sit with her and, sometimes, when she seemed lonely, I would. I could almost read it on her face, the loneliness, and she was so much like Cass in those moments it nearly killed me. Today looked like one of those days, so I stopped.
“Coffee, Graham?” she asked me.
“I’d love some coffee, Mrs. H,” I said. I didn’t really want coffee—I hated that stuff—but her eyes lit up when she poured it and motioned to the seat beside her. I sat, slowly, and noticed once again she left the seat across from her empty. The seat that was for Cassie. It was as if nothing was different for her: I was still the boy next door in love with her daughter and any second she would bounce out of that door and sit next to us.
She wouldn’t. She’d left.
And I hated sitting and pretending that things were the same when they weren’t. Cassie wasn’t part of my life anymore, never would be, but her mother was this constant reminder. I wanted to ignore her, but when she had that look on her face, and with her being bipolar and her daughter off in Indiana, I don’t know. It made me feel heartless.
I should’ve left this town like Cass did, and then maybe I wouldn’t have to be reminded every single day that I wasn’t good enough.
Mrs. H handed me a mug. I took an obligatory sip. Four sips were usually all I could manage to swallow, and it tended to equal the amount of time we could sit here before she mentioned Cass. I wasn’t sure which was worse. Cass’s name was a shot to the chest every single time. It’s not every day your fiancée leaves in the middle of the night with no reasons why.
“How’s it going, Mrs. H?” I asked.
“The same as always, Graham. Not much excitement in my life, I must say, not like when I was younger,” she said. When she was younger, she was a groupie. Technically, she was a manager, but the way she painted her life, all travelling and bands and pot in the seventies, she was a groupie.
“I love this song!” she yelled, slapping her hand on the little table. Her eyes were bright, as if some kind of fog passed her for only a moment. She sang along to the opening verse and then stopped. “Did Cassie ever tell you about this song?”
Cass never told me a lot of things, but this story I knew. I could even picture the way Cass would recite it in such great detail as if she had been there. Her nose crinkled up, her blue eyes sparkled as she whisked everyone away. She had a way of doing that, of making people forget that they were only hearing a story instead of living something real. But with Cass, nobody cared.
What the hell am I doing here?
“This song was the song that was playing the first time I kissed him. He was handsome—a lot like you are now,” Mrs. H said. �
��Richard was standing across the room and the crowd seemed to part when Stevie started singing this song. Our eyes met, and that was the end.”
Stevie Nicks. The gateway singer in the Harlen women’s souls. Even a song like “Angel,” that always seemed sad to me, brought joy to them. Cass loved Stevie Nicks the same way, with this absolute assurance that she could never be wrong about the choice. She’d loved me that way once, too. She could make me lose control with a look, make me feel like I was flying with a touch, and stop my heart with a kiss. That was the one thing I knew was true, but then she left, and even Stevie couldn’t fix that.
“I should go,” I said. All of this was a little too much for one morning. Her smile disappeared. I took two steps before glancing back at her. Mrs. H was staring into her house through the open window.
“Graham, do you still want to go to school for that construction thing?”
I nodded. “Architecture, yeah.”
I did the construction thing, too. I’d been working with the local hardware store for odd jobs for half a year now. It started out with me helping out around Mrs. H’s house. A pipe, a broken window, and then everyone started calling me. It wasn’t my dream, which was architecture school, but it was money in the bank. Money that would hopefully send me to Rice University in the fall. But I still didn’t know. My dreams had been wait-listed.
“Can you knock down this wall?” She pointed through the window. Really? Those damn Harlen women. Just when I told myself I was out, they lured me back in.
I went back up the stairs and followed her direction to the wall next to the fireplace. I shook my head. That fireplace was security for the whole wall. Knocking it down would be a lot of trouble, and fixing it even more.
“Why do you want to knock it down?” I asked.
She smiled, a hand fluttering out into the air. “A big window! So I can see into the backyard.”
“How big?” I asked. We could put in a window, for sure.
“The whole wall! Windows are supposed to be big, not tiny. This house doesn’t have enough windows. Cassie said it always felt too small.”
Sounded like something she’d say. Cassie thought this town was too small, too. This house, this town, her life. “Sorry, Mrs. H. I can’t take out that whole wall for a window.”
“But it’s crowded.”
“The fireplace is there. Pick a new wall and then maybe,” I said. She shook her head slowly, not looking away. Shit. Now I’ve upset her. I rested a hand on her shoulder. “You okay? You taking your meds, Mrs. H?”
She shook me off. “Graham Tucker, you can’t ask a woman about her meds.”
I held up my hands, because if Mrs. H had been Cassie there’d be a second before I had something thrown at my head. “I’m only making sure, ma’am.”
Mrs. H crossed her arms, and the bangles on her wrist jangled. “Nurse Debbie comes by every afternoon and I take my meds then. Every day.”
“Okay,” I said. For some reason it felt like a lie. I knew enough about Harlen women to tell that, too. “I should get to work.”
She didn’t pay attention to me—her eyes were on that wall and when I crossed into my yard from hers, something felt off. I couldn’t figure it out, but Cass used to get that way sometimes. I would say something she didn’t like and she’d shut me out. She was so determined to be right that nothing else mattered except proving that thing could exist.
Stop it.
My life no longer revolved around Cass anymore, but somehow her mother was still part of mine. The woman had no one, except a daughter hundreds of miles away doing God knows what. I didn’t care what she did, and in the last eleven months, she’d made it crystal clear she didn’t care what I did. Or about me at all. I had to step away from Mrs. H, because being around her meant being around Cass…even if it was only stories. Cass in stories was almost as dangerous as Cass in real life. Even surrounded by her ghost I knew that. In real life or in stories, I knew one thing for sure: Cassidee Nicks Harlen broke my heart once. She would never be allowed to do it again.
3.
Cassie
I HUGGED MY knees toward my chest. Even though it was a sunny day, it was still April in Indiana. Graham and I used to sneak off to the ocean all year round, especially after one of Mom’s bad days, when I was stressed out. It was never this cold at home, but sometimes it was too cold for a rational person to sit next to the water. We didn’t let it stop us. Graham would always wrap his arms around me and kiss my neck, and we’d stay that way next to the ocean until the coldness seemed to seep through my skin. Then he’d guide me to the car or the quiet place under the pier and tell me I was beautiful while his hands warmed and explored my body and made me forget I’d even been cold. Made me forget everything that wasn’t him.
No thinking about Graham.
I couldn’t let myself go back to those memories, or I’d never be happy without him.
My eyes scanned the shore of the lake, which was scattered with people. A boy and his mom were closest to me. He was three or four, running through the sand in steps that were too wide to keep him balanced. The woman trailed after him and rested a hand on her pregnant belly. They lingered at the cusp of the tide, and he reached for her as the waves washed over his feet.
The last time I came here I was with Rohan. I failed a test that day, which wasn’t a big deal, but it felt like the world was ending. It made me cry more. The crying reminded me of Mom, of times when every small moment was really a large one. And of Graham, and the look on his face each time I disappointed him, when I made him leave me here, and that made it worse. My emotions had been out of control when Rohan found me in bed. He’d stroked my cheek with his slightly calloused fingertips, curled his body next to mine. The warmth of him had seeped through my sheets, but it was nothing like Graham’s warmth or Graham’s hands or even Graham’s memory.
I never told Rohan why I was upset; I couldn’t because he didn’t know about Mom, but he’d carried me out of the bed and into the car and up here. I still hadn’t told him or anyone else. Indiana made me someone new, someone without a bipolar mother, someone not at risk. I’d given up everything, including Graham, to be that person, but I wasn’t sure who this new Cassie was without those things.
The boy squealed, stuck somewhere between excitement and laughter. The water crawled up his to his ankles and he jumped in it, making a splash and a louder laugh. The sound made me smile.
I grabbed my notebook, writing down notes and words to the rhythms around me.
Sandcastles, snowmen, houses of cards // everything falls apart // just like you // just like me// and the life that couldn’t be // things I can never get back // things I can never be // just like you // just like me // and the life that will never be
Every piece of life had music in it; we only had to find it. Writing music, writing life, helped me focus on the important moments. The ones that needed to be felt and captured and remembered. That was all music was: moments frozen into songs. I heard the songs as if they were really playing around me—and sometimes, lately, I’d been hearing the ones I was trying to forget.
My phone vibrated on my leg; it was June, and I sighed before answering it.
"Cassidee Fucking Harlen, where are you? Rohan is freaking out.”
“I had to get away. Tell Rohan I'm fine.”
June inhaled on the line. I almost saw her in my head as she paced outside Jason's dorm, bright red and pink hair a mess because June “doesn't do Monday mornings” and chain smoking even though she’d quit last week. And two weeks before that.
“You sure you're not having a meltdown or anything? If you're under emotional distress, I can drag Jason's ass out of bed and we can come save you. We even have a white stallion.”
Jason's Mustang. We dubbed it Stallion after the homecoming parade, when Rohan and I were new and Jason was newer and would do anything to be in with June. Most people would do anything to be in with June.
“But do you have a cape? And a sword?”
She paused, breathing in and out on the line. She was definitely smoking. “Actually, yes.”
“Do I want to know?”
“Probably not,” June said. Her voice practically smiled across the phone. “You're sure this isn't a cry for help?”
“Yes,” I said. If she knew about my mom then what would she think? Or about Graham?
“Great, then call your boyfriend, doll. I'm going back to bed.”
I glanced at my watch. 11:10 a.m. "Don't you have psych in twenty minutes? I think you should go to class instead of to sleep."
“Who said I was sleeping? Jason has a cape, and I only need ten minutes for what I have in mind.”
“Gross.”
“Don't be jealous. I will totally have Jason give the cape to Rohan. I know how you have a thing for superheroes,” she said with a laugh before she hung up.
I’d met Rohan at a party where he was dressed as some Indian superhero. June dragged me with her to the frat party, thanks to her then fling with David Givens, and I ended up in the corner of the room, a lonely sexy nurse surrounded by superheroes. It was a theme—heroes—and apparently sexy nurse qualified. At least in June's eyes. I’d never talked to Rohan Patel before he said, “I think you’re the only one who took this party literally.” He stayed by my side all night, and then he helped me get June back to our dorm. He looked at me like I was being seen for the first time, and ran his fingers across my cheek, and kissed me like I was more than the broken girl, like I was the only girl, and spent the night.
My phone vibrated again. This time it was Rohan.
June said she talked to you. Where are you?
I was about to call.
You’re okay?
Went on a drive. I’m coming back now.
Days Like This Page 1