I must have fallen asleep for quite a while. I woke up to the delicious smell of bacon and maple syrup. Why was my mom making such an elaborate breakfast, I wondered, or was I simply in the middle of a dream? James and I usually had to fend for ourselves and would settle for a quick and easy bowl of cereal.
I rubbed my sleepy eyes and realized it wasn’t a dream. My head was still pounding even though I had gotten up at some point, taken a few aspirin and gulped down a gallon of water. My whole body ached, too. As I lay there, I was, once again, horrified and embarrassed about the night before. I couldn’t believe I went to a party at Rocky Johnson’s house, got groped by him, threw up in a trash can and passed out somewhere in his mansion. The whole thing was so unbelievable, I started to chuckle.
I rolled onto my side and faced my nightstand. I studied my favorite snapshot of my dad and me. I remembered posing for the picture. It was at Christmastime and my father and I wore matching Santa hats. He was so handsome with his thick, chestnut hair and twinkling, dark blue eyes. I knew the picture was taken right before he died because it wasn’t until then that he had grown any facial hair. My mom would tease him and tell him that when she kissed him, it felt like she was kissing sandpaper. My dad would laugh and grab her around the waist and try to rub his goatee all over her face. She would scream and try to get away while James and I laughed at their silliness.
I decided to get dressed and head downstairs. Although I was suffering from a hangover, the aroma was too much to resist. Maybe some greasy and fattening food was what I needed to feel better.
James, as usual, was parked in front of the television eating a stack of pancakes. I went into the kitchen and watched as my mom placed a heaping plate of steaming bacon on the table. She spotted me.
“Well, good morning, sleepy head!”
Why the heck was she so cheerful? And why was she all dressed up and wearing her favorite lime-green apron that I hadn’t seen in years?
“Would you like some pancakes, bacon or both?” she asked as she poured some batter into a frying pan.
Slowly I sat down. “I’ll have both, please.”
I was about to ask my mom what the special occasion was, but didn’t have to. Just then, someone slammed the bathroom door shut very loudly. My mom and I turned toward the kitchen doorway just as Brian ducked under it to join us.
“Well, good morning, Willow!” he beamed.
He had a newspaper tucked under his armpit and looked as if he had just rolled out of bed. Brian was usually dapper, but his shirt and pants were all wrinkled and his hair was a complete mess. It quickly dawned on me why my mother was going through all this trouble to make such a fancy breakfast. I cringed as the visual filled my mind. I thought I would throw up whatever contents were left in my shrinking stomach right then and there. Mr. Brian Roberts had slept over our house, in the same bed, with my mother!
• • •
Somehow I managed to wolf down a ton of pancakes and bacon, despite the fact that I had to do it in the presence of my overly flirtatious mother and her “lover.” Ewww … just the word “lover” made me want to regurgitate all that I had just eaten.
My mother stood over the stove. “Bri-Bri, would you please hand me the spatula?”
Brian grabbed the spatula off the table and pretended he was going to spank my mom with it.
My mother shot him a look and motioned over to me. Yeah, yeah, I got it. Brian was into spanking. Ewww … again, I almost lost it.
Luckily I was able to keep my food down and felt better almost instantly. My headache subsided and I had a little more energy. I cleared my place at the table, excused myself and headed upstairs to my room. I was going to spend the day in bed, catching up on my homework and also on my sleep.
I emptied my backpack and spread my books and folders all over my bed. I decided I would take a nap after I finished up my Social Studies paper. I grabbed my computer and was about to type up my bibliography, but decided I would quickly sign onto my MyWeb account and check out other people’s pages. Tessa’s didn’t show any activity from the night before, but there was a link posted on her wall with new photos.
I clicked on the link and immediately recognized that the pictures had been taken at Rocky’s on Saturday night and were posted by one of his friends, Josh. I wasn’t friends with Josh, but was still able to view the photos.
They were mainly of him and his buddies doing stupid things like pouring beer into each other’s mouths while standing on top of the bar. I was thankful that I wasn’t in any of the pictures. I clicked on a few more and was just about to sign off when I noticed that I had an unread message in my mailbox. It must be new, I figured. Unfortunately, I didn’t check to see whom it came from first. I opened the message and never could have imagined the impact of its three simple words: “Happy Belated. Michael.”
• • •
Why was Michael wishing me a happy birthday, now, a week after the fact? For that matter, why was he wishing me a happy birthday at all? I hadn’t seen him since Thanksgiving nor heard from him since Christmas. Initially, I had thought about sending him a message thanking him for the cryptic Christmas card, but decided not to. What would I have said in the note; thanks for the card with the puzzling message, thanks for never calling me or making an effort to see me in person?
By this point, I had moved on with my life. Tessa and I were becoming better friends and I had just been to my first real party at the house of the hottest guy in high school. I had no need for Michael or his mysteriousness anymore.
I almost deleted the message, but thought that I at least owed him a response one last time. “Thanks,” I typed back.
I forced myself to sign off the Internet because I had to finish my paper if I was going to nap at all. I found the rough draft of my bibliography and started typing. I was just about to finish when my phone rang. I picked up my cell and read the caller ID. It said that the call was restricted so I wasn’t able to tell whom it was. Who the heck could it be, I wondered? Curiosity got the best of me and I picked up.
“Hello?”
“You’re welcome.”
“You’re welcome?” I was confused. “For what? Who is this?”
“It’s me. Michael. I said “you’re welcome” because you thanked me for the belated birthday wish.”
“Oh.”
“Sorry it was belated. I didn’t realize it was your birthday until afterward.”
Michael coughed, but continued. “How was your birthday, by the way?”
“Good,” was all I could muster. What did this kid want from me?
“So, what’s going on?” he asked.
I couldn’t hide the annoyance in my voice. “Why did you call me restricted?”
“’Cause I wanted you to answer and I didn’t think you would if you knew it was me.”
So I wasn’t overreacting about him. He must have felt badly, after all, for the way we left things back in November.
“I sent you a Christmas card. Did you ever get it?” he asked.
“Yeah, I did, but I didn’t know what to do about it. I couldn’t have sent one back to you even I wanted to. I don’t have your address, I don’t know where you live, I don’t know why you don’t go to school, I don’t know anything about you, Michael Cooper. So why would I bother with you at all?”
I couldn’t believe what I had just said to him, but I couldn’t help myself. These feelings had been bottled up for so long and I finally got them out, to the person who needed to hear them. To be quite honest, I felt a sense of relief after I said it.
I could hear Michael breathing on the other end, but he didn’t respond. I didn’t care. I was not going to apologize for telling him the truth about how I felt. Bottom line, they were my feelings and I was entitled to them.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You’re right. I’ve acted like an idiot and I’m sorry.”
What was I to say back to him? He was apologizing and I could hear the sincerity in his voice. “Please fo
rgive me.”
Without warning, I responded, “It’s okay. You’re not an idiot, an enigma maybe, but not an idiot.”
Michael laughed. I did, too.
“Listen, Willow. I will tell you all about myself, if you’d like, in person, next weekend.”
I paused. I didn’t know what to say.
He continued. “I completely understand if you don’t want to see me. But think about it and if you do, meet me at my house on the island, at 161 Shoreline Drive, next Saturday night at five.”
I still couldn’t speak.
“Say you’ll be there.”
I shook my head and mumbled. “I don’t know.”
“That’s fine. Just think about it. In the meantime, I’ll wish it upon a star.”
I could hear my mother’s footsteps coming down the hall.
“I’ve gotta go, Michael.”
“Okay. ’Til then,” he said and hung up.
My mother knocked on my door and opened it.
“Willow, Brian and I are gonna head over to the mainland for a few hours. Can you stay here with James?”
I nodded my head. “Sure.” As usual, I had nothing better to do anyway.
“Thanks, dear,” she said before closing my door.
I was completely baffled by my conversation with Michael. What the hell was I going to do; meet with him next Saturday or completely ditch him? I was so utterly confused. My head began throbbing and I started to feel as if I was in the throes of a debilitating hangover all over again. I pushed my books off my bed, crept under the covers and closed my eyes, hoping to wake up and realize that the past twenty-four hours had been nothing more than a terrible nightmare.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
In the Middle of Nowhere (Willow's Journey #1) Page 20