by P. Dangelico
“I love you,” he says, his voice calm and steady while his eyes burn brightly with longing, my face still in his reverent hold. “And…” He exhales harshly. “And not the flowers and dinner on Valentine’s kind of love. It’s not soft or sweet. The way I love you is…is––” His face twists in frustration. “It’s fucking painful. When you’re not near me I feel like Popovitch is sitting on my chest and I can’t breathe.”
Popovitch, the three hundred and twenty-five pound nose tackle for the Titans. I don’t know whether to laugh at the over the top romantic declaration, or cry at the honesty, at the bravery it takes to pour your most sacred feelings out and hope they aren’t met with a shrug.
“I know I’m asking a lot. I know I am. But I…” He exhales roughly, emotion breaking through the self-possessions he’s famous for. “This––you and me––it doesn’t come around often. Don’t walk away because I’m selfish when it comes to you. Hate me, stay mad, but don’t walk away. I promise I will make it up to you every single day for the rest of our lives if you stay.”
I’m being torn in two by my head and my heart. In that moment I live a thousand lives with him, every possible scenario, and come up with the same result.
There is no him and me without me first.
It’ll drive a wedge between us eventually. Looking into the pained face of the man I love, I make an attempt at bravery myself. “Ethan––”
“Did I ever tell you how much I love hearing you say my name?” he says interrupting, a noticeable desperation in his voice.
“I can’t.” My voice is barely audible, my lungs seizing, unable to draw breath. There’s no need for explanations. This has stopped being about who said what or didn’t, this is about me making something of myself, not sacrificing my dreams for anyone else––even him.
His eyes briefly flutter closed. Pain. Disappointment. Defeat. None of them linger on his face long because he shuts them down. Slow nodding, his eyes, filled with regret, meet mine again. He won’t let go of my face. I wrap my fingers around his wrists and pry them off while I look up, letting him see that it’s hurting me as much as it is him. I hold my hand out and he takes it, lacing his fingers through mine. I hug his arm and hold on with everything I’ve got. That’s how we walk to the car. Together, slowly, trying to make the moment last as long as possible.
“What’s your damage? Do you have any idea how scared we all were? This is a big bad world. Kids get kidnapped and sold to people as pets.”
Once we got to Eileen’s, I said goodbye to Ethan. Few words were spoken. I got out of the car and watched him drive away with my heart. It took everything I had not to run after him like a lunatic. After which, I found Audrey in the backyard, rocking back and forth on an old swing set.
“It was my grand gesture,” she mumbles, her eyes avoiding me purposely. “I thought…I don’t know. I thought if I went to see him he would know that I like him, like him.”
Oh dear. This is exactly why I should not be allowed near children unsupervised. She looks up with wet green eyes.
“And?”
“And he was with his new friends. He acted like he barely knew me.”
She might as well have punched a hole in my chest. The pain is that intense. That little fucker. He’s lucky he’s a minor. I sit in the swing next to her, and throwing an arm around her bony shoulders, hug her close. “Happens to the best of us, kid.”
“I thought he liked me, too.”
“He’s a boy. Boys are weird and hard to figure out. The best you can do is be honest with yourself about how you feel, and be honest with them. I wish I could tell you it gets easier but I can’t. All I can promise is that if you’re honest, one day when you look back on it, you’ll smile and hold your head up high because you were brave. And bravery kicks ass.”
That gets a wobbly smile out of her. She scrubs her tear stained cheeks with the backs of her hands.
“And Audrey, most importantly, don’t ever waste your time and tears on boys that are too stupid to realize that you’re awesome.”
By the look on her face, I’m not sure she quite gets it. She will eventually, though. I’ll be there every step of the way to make sure she does.
“You can’t leave,” she says with a suddenly determined expression.
“I have to.”
“You can’t. We’re sisters now, and if you leave, I’ll lose you, and I won’t have anyone to talk to and––”
“Audrey, Audrey, pump the brakes. First of all, you won’t lose me. You’ll have an excuse to come to L.A. whenever you have time off from school. And I have to go. I was always going. I have to give it a real chance and part of the reason why is you.”
“Me?” She doesn’t believe it, her tone rife with doubt.
“Yeah, you.” I look down into eyes too big for her delicate features, her expression stoic even though I know she’s in despair. “You make me want to be a better grown up. So that my opinion will be worth something to you.”
The stoic mask slides off, replaced by a sad acceptance that nothing she says or does will alter the outcome. I almost give in and say I’ll stick around a little longer.
“Can I come for the whole summer?”
Teenagers, an endless source of entertainment.
“Nice try. How does two weeks sound?”
When she looks up again, a cheeky smirk lights up her face. “Deal.”
“Thank you.”
I look over my shoulder and find the owner of that all too familiar gravelly voice stepping closer to the edge of the patio. My mother fidgets with the hem of her not-age-appropriate V-neck t-shirt, her breast implants in danger of splitting it in two. She looks contrite, something that has never, not once to my knowledge, happened before. Uncork the champagne, this is cause for celebration.
Dan and Audrey insisted I stay for dinner. Dan was barbecuing. I only agreed because he was cooking––knowing Eileen’s penchant for cooking with a microwave and only a microwave.
She didn’t say much during dinner. Instead she chose to watch me from across the patio table with heavy suspicion in her hard eyes. After we ate and cleared the table, I lingered outside a little longer.
“For what?”
“For being a big sister to Audrey…she worships you.”
“You don’t have to thank me for that. She’s my sister. I’d do anything for her.” I turn to find my mother watching the horizon. “She’s a good kid. A bit dramatic, but good.”
Eileen turns to me and smiles. “Wonder who she gets that from.” This time we share a smile. Another first.
It dawns upon me as I watch her. In the process of not becoming my mother, I’ve shortchanged myself. By letting my fear of becoming anything like her dictate my life, I’ve given my power away.
“So––did you dump the lawyer?” Typical. Expecting her to change is about as futile as asking a tiger to become a vegetarian.
Her tone sets me on edge. She’s judging me. And her verdict is that I’m an idiot because I’m putting my career before a man. “Let’s not pretend we’re the Kardashians because we shared a meal.”
“Gawd, you’re such a bully. I was just asking a question.”
“I’m a bully?” I nearly shout, talking over her.
“You’re so smart, right? Miss Ivy League,” she sneers. “You love to remind me how much smarter than me you are. Well, has it ever occurred to you that I was doing the best I could? That I wasn’t equipped to raise a baby at twenty-one because I didn’t know how?!”
“Know how? Are you kidding me? You didn’t even try. You were always too busy juggling all your boyfriends. You didn’t have any time for me.”
“Because they were easy to please! I knew what they wanted from me. Sex––and then they went away. But you…” she says head shaking, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “But you wanted things from me that I didn’t have to give! I’m not confident like you! I don’t know what I’m doing half the time! Who knows where I’d be without Dan!”
> Shocked, that’s what I am. For the first time I see her through a different lens. One that isn’t colored by my memories of her, but rather as an objective bystanders. Mind you, it takes a lot. Images come flooding back. All the times she stumbled into the doorway laughing, hanging onto the latest boyfriend while she ignored me and went about her business with whomever she’d brought back to our apartment over my grandmother’s garage. Leaving me at the theater. There are enough memories in my head to fill a The New York City Public Library.
However, for the first time I see her as a victim of her immaturity instead of the callous, selfish person she’s always been in my eyes.
“I just needed you to be there.”
“I regret a lot. I regret how I was with you. But you can’t blame me for the things that didn’t work out for you, and you can’t punish me the rest of my life.”
“I don’t blame you for the things that didn’t work out for me. That’s on me.”
We’re quiet for a while, a reflective silence stretching between us.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me…I’m asking to start over somehow. I’d like for us to be a family. Dan and Audrey want it. I know I do.”
I take in the nervous way she’s lacing her fingers together and gripping them closed, the tightness of her full lips, her neck mottled with anxiety. “I’m not making any promises––but I’ll try.”
“Ready,” Dan says interrupting.
“Have a safe trip,” she says.
I take a last look at Eileen and nod at Dan.
The car ride back to the city is peaceful. Staring out the passenger window, I get lost in the music. Miles Davis, Duke Ellington––a little Charlie Parker. Dan has always been a big jazz aficionado.
When we get to my tree lined street in the Village, he parks. By some act of God we find a wedge of space large enough to fit his Subaru.
“Why’d you marry her, Dan? What was it about her you couldn’t live without.”
His expression turns wistful, as if he’s peering into the past and reliving a memory. A really good one.
“It’s her enthusiasm for life. She lives every minute like it counts. Back then, when we first met, I had none––” His eyes cut to mine, cloudy with the remnants of an old pain. “You know why.” When Eileen crashed into Dan, he was a widower and a single parent of a seven year old boy, having buried his wife, a woman he loved, a year and a half prior. “And she had too much of it. I guess I was hoping a little would rub off on me.”
“Did it?”
“Yes,” he says, smiling. “Every day. Even after all these years. She fuels me, gives me something to live for.”
Tears track down my cheeks. I wipe them away.
“Ya know…” Dan’s mouth presses closed, as if he’s not sure he should let the words out. “You two are more alike than you think. I hope you take that as the compliment I mean it to be.”
“Honestly, I think that’s what scares me the most. That I’m so wrapped up in myself that I don’t notice all the important stuff going on around me…the important people.”
Shaking his head, he stops me from uttering another word. “I mean, you’re full of life. You’re the kind of woman any man would be lucky to sustain himself on.”
“Jesus, Dan, if you don’t stop, you’re going to turn me into a slobbering mess,” I say, wiping more tears away.
His low chuckle makes me chuckle, too. I’d liked Dan instantly, which never happened with the men Eileen brought home. And there were plenty. That was another facet to the devastation I felt when she told me I couldn’t live with them. I’d never had a father and part of me thought Dan was meant for me.
“How’s Billy?”
“Great. He’s still at IBM. He married Liz last year.”
I nod and smile. Billy is just like his dad, a rock, a solid citizen and a good man.
“There’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask you for a long time.” His sage green eyes hold mine for a beat. “Was that you, that left the dog shit when we still lived in Jersey?”
I can’t stop the corners of my mouth from creeping up. Holding his amusement filled gaze, I say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The rumble of laughter starts deep in his chest and explodes out of him. “I knew it. I knew it,” he says, head shaking. “Why’d you stop?” The question pops out as if he suddenly realized he needed to know.
“One day, I hid behind the bushes across the street to revel in my handiwork. I’d made a sling shot that day and chucked it at the white garage doors.”
Dan groans. “I remember.”
“I was so proud of myself for that one. Until the front door opened and I watched you come out with a bucket and a sponge. It never occurred to me that you were the one paying the price. I should have, though. I should’ve known she wouldn’t be the one cleaning it up.” I shrug, stealing a glance at Dan to asses the damage the truth has done and find a smile still gracing his face. “I couldn’t do it once I knew it was you bearing the brunt of it.”
“Amber.” Dan’s voice sounds suddenly serious. Glancing in his direction, I find his profile. “I don’t have many regrets. But the one at the top of my list is that I didn’t fight harder for you when we got married. I was so out of it. In love and dealing with the guilt of moving on without Marie that you suffered the consequence––”
“Dan, you don’t have anything to apologize––“
“Let me, please,” he says, cutting me off.
“I’m sorry. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Dan. Really.”
Dan smiles. Searching and finding the truth of that statement in my eyes, he nods.
I get out of the car and Dan, ever the gentleman, walks me to my stoop.
“Thanks for the ride.”
He hugs me and pats my back and once again, I’m on the verge of another gusher.
“Be safe. Good luck. And come back to us soon.”
As soon as I’m back inside my empty apartment I lay down on the bare mattress. The NYU students who live downstairs will be over tomorrow morning to pick it up. The emotional dump makes me sleepy. With any luck, tonight will be the first night where Ethan doesn’t invade my dreams. I won’t hold my breath, though.
Chapter Thirty
“The guy on table twelve said he wants you to pick the croutons out of his Caesar salad.”
Britney holds up the plate for my inspection. Two weeks in California. One of those weeks spent waiting tables night and day at an über trendy restaurant along Sunset Blvd. and I’m already itching to quit.
The guy on table twelve can kiss my skinny ass.
“Welcome to L.A.,” she adds with an eye roll.
“I’m surprised they haven’t already passed a proposition to ban all carbs from entering the state,” I grumble in return.
“Doesn’t it makes you want to run back to New York?”
New York. Where all the people I love are. Every cell in my body is screaming to run back and carbs have nothing to do with it. Sleep is an impossible goal almost every night. I bought no less than four new electric boyfriends, and even they proved a total fucking disappointment. After breaking two of them in my vigor to achieve the unachievable, I finally chucked them all in the trash. Not without some drama; my new seventy year old neighbor was passing me on the way to walk his dog at the same time I was busy smashing one against the sidewalk. According to Mr. Goldman I need to deal with my anger management issues posthaste.
Missing Ethan is a constant, relentless craving, akin to being hungry twenty-four seven. It dominates my every waking moment, and the few hours of sleep I manage to catch. I so badly want to call him to see how he is, how he’s faring at his new job. But then what?
Even if I have forgiven him––which I have––a country separates us. And I owe it to myself to see this through, to not put my own needs on the back burner because I’m afraid of turning into Eileen.
“Nah, I’m livin
’ the dream,” I deadpan. Plastering a fake smile on my face, I head to the bar to pick up a drink order.
“Princess Amber!”
I look around, searching for the faraway voice shouting my name. When nothing else follows, I shake it off and load the tray with drinks.
Outside, on the restaurant patio, sunshine pounds down and reflects off the concrete sidewalk. Squinting, I place the drinks down in front of two hipsters wearing sunglasses that cost as much as the old jalopy I purchased yesterday.
Yay! I have a California driver’s license. Woo-hoo. Too bad I broke out in hysterics right as the DMV employee was snapping the picture. Which resulted in the worst driver’s license picture ever taken in fifty-two states. Which, coincidently, looks eerily familiar to my New Year’s Eve mug shot. All I could think of was Ethan, and how I wished I could’ve shared the moment with him.
“Princess Amber Isabelle Jones!”
My feet move of their own accord, following the faraway voice to the edge of the sidewalk. Scanning up and down Sunset Blvd, I watch luxury cars speed by, each more expensive than the next. And then I spot it, the white limo approaching.
There’s a man hanging out of the sunroof. A man I recognize all too well because, let’s face it, no one would ever forget a face like his. Disbelief and joy explode inside my chest, the concrete beneath me is the only thing keeping me upright. The impact of it hits me squarely in the chest. My heart doesn’t skip a beat, it jolts as if I stuck my finger in an electric socket.
He’s holding a bullhorn and waving a bunch of roses back and forth, petals coming loose and hitting the windshield of the car behind him. “Princess Jones!”
“Mama mia,” Britney murmurs. She’s hanging over my shoulder, gawking at the same thing I am. “Who is that?”
I absolutely refuse to cry. Nevertheless, I wipe away a suspicious amount of salty water coating my cheeks with the back of my hand.
“That’s my happily-ever-after,” I say, my voice breaking as I struggle to catch my breath.
As soon as the limo pulls to a stop at the curb, Ethan’s eyes find mine. Everything passes between us. Unspoken apologies, joy, relief, love. So much Love. An endless supply of love.