by Unknown
“Shall we pray?” Grandpa Joe asks, and we all bow our heads; they all say in unison, “Bless us, O Lord, and these your gifts, which we are about to receive from your bounty. Through Christ our Lord, amen.” They all cross themselves, and we then begin passing around the dishes and serving the food. Once our plates are full, we begin to eat. It is really good, and we compliment the dishes. The responses are simple, as in, who made it. It is a dinner full of tense pleasantries but delicious food. Well, the first half of the meal was like that. After a lull in conversation, Ted clears his throat and wipes his mouth with his napkin, looking pointedly at Michelle. Chase’s arm tenses next to me. I set my fork down and put my hands in my lap. This is what Chase had warned me about and why he said I had to be here with him today. I can feel the air of the room change as all eyes fall on Michelle.
“Ted and I have some really great news,” she begins after clearing her throat. “We’re getting married.” She bounces. I’m not quite sure why she thinks now is the appropriate time to share, or when any appropriate time would be to share that information with your ex-in-laws.
“Congratulations,” Mike says and returns to his food.
“There’s more,” she smiles, and he lowers his fork. I look at Chase. He’s staring at her, his face expressionless as he waits for the other shoe to drop. “He’s bought into a chiropractic franchise in Green Bay. We are moving just before the first of the year. You’re going to love it,” she smiles at Chase.
“I’m not going to Green Bay to visit you every other month,” Chase says softly.
“Of course not,” she says flippantly, and he lets out a sigh. “We’ll move over Christmas break.” His eyes hold hers as he realizes what she’s really saying. Then he looks down, not at his plate, not at his hands in his lap, at my legs. My bare, crossed thighs because my short skirt has ridden up as I’ve sat here eating, squirming, and being anxious for him. He stares, and I can feel the color chasing my neck to my cheeks.
“I’m not moving with you. This is my home,” he speaks calmly as he stares at my legs.
“Chase, don’t be silly. I am your mother, your legal guardian.” She stares at him hard.
“If the boy doesn’t want to move, then he shouldn’t have to.” Grandpa Joe holds up his hand to try to diffuse the situation.
“His place is with his mother,” Ted interjects.
“His place is at his home. This is his home. Michelle, he has lived with me for a year and half,” Mike says crisply.
“I am his legal guardian; his place is with me.”
“I’m not living with him,” Chase says, still not removing his eyes from my crossed thighs. Ted scoffs. I am sure that my face is the color of Ted’s cherry Benz out front.
“You don’t want me to call my lawyer,” Michelle threatens angrily toward Mike. Grandma Birdy rings her napkin with her hands in her lap. I feel really bad for her. The dinner she worked so hard on is ruined now, a pleasant evening gone out the window into the cool fall day.
“Call your lawyer and the judge while you’re at it. I’ll tell mine how I’ve continued paying my child support while I had physical custody. Then I will petition for full custody since you haven’t seen Chase since last summer before today.” Mike’s hands are flat on the table. “This is his house, and he’s not moving until he’s ready, whether that is Christmas break, when he graduates and goes to college, or when he is thirty. This will always be his home even after he decides to leave, not you. You gave up that right when you let Ted put his hands on him.” Mike’s face is almost as red as mine. Chase scoots away from the table and goes to the kitchen, slamming the basement door before he stomps down the stairs. All is quiet for a few minutes.
“Fine, we’ll talk about this later, privately,” she concedes.
“Excuse me,” I say, scooting away from the table, as her eyes dart coldly to me. Mike nods his approval to me so I rise and take Chase’s and my plates to the kitchen. I scrape the leftovers off them into the trash and place them in the sink. I take a deep breath, not really sure what to do next.
“Don’t worry about those; I’ll take care of that,” Grandma Birdy says behind me as she ushers me toward the basement door. “He needs a friend now.” I go down the stairs. It is still and silent. I can’t even hear the voices upstairs. Chase isn’t in the TV room. I walk to his bedroom and stand in the doorway leaning against the frame. It’s dark, but I can see that his head is in his hands. I watch him for a few silent moments not sure what to say or do. He holds his hand out to me. I walk to him and take it. We stand awkwardly like that for a few minutes. Then he looks up at me, red-eyed and pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around my waist. We both let out the breath we’ve been holding. I smile at our synchronicity and cradle his head. His cheek presses against my heart.
“I won’t leave you,” he says as his arms squeeze me to him. I smooth his hair and kiss the top of his head.
“I don’t think your dad will let that happen.” He turns his face into my chest and lets out a deep sigh. As his lips warm the skin around my heart, he mumbles something that sounds like, “I won’t leave you,” again. Then he says something I can’t make out.
“What?” I whisper.
He moves his hand from my waist to behind my left knee and pulls it toward him so I am partially straddling him. Then he moves the other leg the same way. I sit in his lap and am eye level with him. My heart thunders in my chest. His head is still in my hands, like I am the only thing holding it on his neck as I cup his cheeks. He moves some strands of hair behind my ear tentatively and looks into my eyes. His other hand rests on the top of my thigh. Every nerve in my body is aware of him, his touch. I can feel the grooves in the fingertip of his thumb as it slides just barely under my hem of my skirt. His chest rises and falls against me as I forget how to breathe and take a jagged breath. He tilts my chin toward him.
“I love you,” he whispers on my lips. I close my eyes and taste him. His lips know me, know what I want, what I need, that I need him. I don’t think about what this means for our friendship anymore. I don’t wonder about losing him; I only worry about what will happen when he takes his lips and hands off me. We fall back together, cradling each other, and kiss for what feels like an eternity but not nearly long enough. Finally, he just holds me, and we drift into sleep, holding each other closely.
I wake up alone but covered with a throw blanket. It is darker, so I assume it is late afternoon as the light cast long shadows across the room. I sit up and find Chase sitting on the floor at the foot of his bed. From his angle he can see out the bedroom door through the kitchenette and through the sliding glass doors to outside. I move to the bottom of the bed and lay my head partially on his shoulder and partially on the bed. I look at his neck, his chin, the side of his face. He stares straight ahead. Softly, he begins to speak, “When I first moved here I was so mad. Mad at my parents, mad at Emily, mad at the world. I hated my new school and went back to Columbus every chance I got, or I brought my friends up here.” He pauses and looks at me as if unsure he should continue, but he steels himself and looks back out the bedroom door. “I used to watch you, you know,” he says softly pulling on a thread from his sleeve. I didn’t know. I can’t say anything so I just stay there and watch him. “Last year we had all those classes. I noticed you right away when school began. I watched you when you thought no one was, when you thought someone might be, and when you knew others were watching. I listened too, to the comments you made to teachers in class and the things you said under your breath. I watched you in the halls with your friends laughing together even when you were teased. By the time first semester was over, I’d forgotten about Emily, and I wanted to find a way to connect with you. I knew you had a thing for Henry, but I also knew he didn’t deserve you, even then. You never paid an ounce of attention to me, which made me want to get close to you more. I liked how you would blush when you thought someone was watching you, yet you never noticed me.” He is right; I never knew he watched
me. I noticed him but thought he didn’t know I existed. “I was never shy around people. I never worried about what they thought of me, but for some reason, I always wanted to impress you. That’s why when I realized you were Farrah, I used that information and blackmailed you into helping me mix our LP. I didn’t need your help, obviously, since I mixed most of the songs myself.”
“Hey,” I say teasingly, and he smirks.
“That’s why I discovered you were Farrah so early because I had your face memorized. I finally had my in, and I took it. I don’t apologize for becoming a part of your life. I do apologize for the way I did it. But what I learned still surprised me. I found myself opening up to you in a way I hadn’t opened up to anyone else. You were caring, and pure, and true, despite everything you were doing. When I was with you, you were so honest with me. I realized then that I loved you, more than I’ve ever loved anyone else, or ever will probably. You make me a better person, every day. I’m not leaving you. I promise you.” He turns and looks at me. I wonder if I’m dreaming, if this is real.
“I want to give you more. . . ,” I begin, and his face hardens.
“But. . .” he says waiting for my protest.
“No but, Chase. I want to be with you and give you more.” Because this is what love feels like, this need to be with someone and become a part of them, and they a part of you, to be with someone who knows you as no one else can. I hope he kisses me again because I want to kiss him forever. Reading my mind, he does.
Lana
With the holiday and the four-day weekend, I find myself not wanting to return to school. I wish it was summer break, and I could spend the day poolside with Tomas. Alas, I find myself bundled up and freezing in Lacey’s red Chevelle because it takes forever to warm up, and she rarely gets out in enough time to get it nice and warm for us. She hums along with the radio, floating on cloud nine. I must admit that finally admitting her feelings for Chase looks good on her. She is glowing.
I meet up with Britt at lunch, and we hit the bathroom first so she can have her smoke, then meet Tomas for lunch. This is our new routine, and it appears she and Tomas have called a truce. When Britt tells us about her soured Thanksgiving with her mom, I wish I would have invited her to Nana’s house. No one should be alone during the holidays, but then I think about how my family would react to spending time with her. There’s a reason she’s never spent the night at my house. I know it sounds hypocritical, but I don’t want them to judge her because it takes time to see that deep down she’s a good person and has such a big heart. She just shrugs it off though.
“So the rumor is that Chase and Lacey are officially together,” she says with disappointment evident in her voice.
“Yeah, I guess they made it official Friday,” I smile, incredibly happy for my sister and Chase.
“I never thought it would happen; I guess anything is possible,” she trails off.
“How are things with you and Jay?” I ask, sensing sadness in her voice.
“Fine, I guess. I’m getting bored. I’ve fallen out of love, and now he just gets on my nerves.” I catch Tomas rolling his eyes, but Britt is digging in her hobo bag.
“Britt, you don’t just fall in and out of love like that,” I say, snapping my fingers. “It’s something that develops over time, conversations, moments shared. Feelings are only the beginning; love is grown.” I’m only just now realizing this from spending time with Tomas. With all those boys I thought I loved before, I had no clue what love was. I still don’t. I’m not going to tell Tomas I love him until I’m sure that I do. I don’t yet, though, because I don’t know him well enough. I want to love him, and I think I will, soon. Britt just stares at me with her jaw open. I look away at Tomas who looks at me with admiration. “Too deep?” I ask, suddenly feeling shy.
“Probably.” “No.” Britt and Tomas answer at the same time. Tomas pulls me into his embrace and kisses the top of my head, as Britt gives us a yuck face. I laugh because her PDA makes me feel the same way sometimes. Finally, she gives me a smirk. I guess that’s the best I’m going to get from her, and that’s OK.
Too soon lunch is over, and as we enter the hall, Henry Emmitts and Melanie Harris are standing in the corner, and it looks like they’re arguing. I slow my pace and listen.
“So like that, you’re willing just to give up on us?” Melanie shrieks.
“I just feel like I have some things I have to work out with myself, and you deserve someone who will give you all the attention you deserve. It’s not you,” Henry says, kind of coldly if you ask me, but then she begins to cry, and I look away. I can sympathize. I feel really bad for her; she’s so pretty, and he is dumping her right here outside of the cafeteria between classes.
I try not to think about them the rest of the day. Before I wouldn’t care; I would have even pointed, laughed, and felt invincible. Now it seems my empathy overrides everything. I’m sitting on the curb waiting for my mom to pick me up for group thinking about how emotional I am now. Maybe suppressing my emotions all of those years has heightened them now. I look at my phone and realize she’s late, so I’m going to be late. Then a bright yellow Camero that looks like Bumblebee from Transformers pulls up. The black tinted passenger window rolls down, and my dad smiles at me widely.
“What the— What?” I ask.
“Do you like? I just signed the papers on it.” He gives me a cheeky smile. I don’t share the love of cars like he and Lacey shares.
“Where’s Mom? And what happened to the Caddy?” I ask, grabbing my bag and standing.
“Mom had a late emergency appointment, and I traded the Caddy. Come on; get in.” I look at him warily. Hello, mid-life crisis. I walk cautiously to the door and get in. The seat is low to the floorand black leather interior, with everything upgraded. He takes off and slams us both back against the leather seats and makes me drop the seatbelt I was trying to fasten.
“Slow down, Mario,” I say, pulling my seat belt again.
“Sorry, honey. I’m still getting used to it.” He shifts and merges into traffic smoothly. I didn’t even know he could drive a stick shift. I look at him, really look at him, this man I don’t know anymore. His sandy hair has more grey in it than this time last year. His face is aging too fast. It just reminds me again about how my decisions affected the rest of my family. I begin to wonder when this guilt will subside. I don’t engage with him for the rest of the ride to group. He’s OK though, playing with all the gadgets on the radio, testing the cruise control, opening the sunroof (which I promptly close; it’s freezing), turning on my seat warmer, and making calls from his Bluetooth connection. I get to hear three messages that he leaves for clients. And for the first time, once we arrive safely, I’m so glad to be able to escape into group where it’s already underway.
“So nice of you to join us; I was getting ready to call your mom.” Dr. Mase looks down his glasses at me as I slide into the chair.
“Sorry, my dad bought a new car today,” I say, suddenly regretting mentioning my dad. I would hate to reveal his indiscretions during group.
“Really, what kind?” Dr. Mase asks as if he can read my mind, and I ground myself not to reveal anything. So I silently channel old Lana.
“Ohmigosh, it’s a new Camero, like, totally loaded. It’s super cool.” Dr. Mase smiles at me, satisfied, as he turns to Bendi.
“So how did the recital go, Bendi?” She takes a deep breath before beginning, or maybe continuing, since I interrupted by being late.
“I could feel the anxiety as every person went ahead of me, but I practiced my breathing exercises like we do in my private session, and before I knew it, I was centered, and it was my turn. And I nailed it. I regretted feeling so weak before because it was simple and easy once I got on stage. I didn’t think about the two hundred people who were in the theater; it was just me and my cello.”
“The regret is going to be there, but you have to learn to forgive yourself. Only then can you begin to rebuild your lives. Things in the pa
st can’t be changed. They are there forever. We either learn from our mistakes or repeat them. To learn from them, you must understand and acknowledge those emotions. Does that make sense?” We all nod at Dr. Mase. It does make sense, and I wish it were as easy as he just explained it.
“But the guilt sneaks up on you, and there you are again, saying what if I’d succeeded in my suicide attempt? Would my family be better off? Or what if I hadn’t started cutting to begin with? My parents wouldn’t fight all the time, and my sister wouldn’t carry this guilt that weighs her down and holds her back from getting close to others,” I blurt out, and I can’t stop the tear from trickling down my cheek.
“Lana, is that the guilt you are carrying? Those are things that just happen, yeah, maybe a result of your actions, but you can’t carry their burdens as yours. My focus is your health and well-being. You can’t work through their emotions for them; they have to do that. Would you like me to speak to your mother about maybe having a family session?” I’m torn. On the one hand, I do, but on the other, we are all hiding secrets from each other. What if they all come out? I shrug. I don’t really believe my mom will go for it, or my dad really for that matter, so what would it hurt for Dr. Mase to ask? He makes notes in his notebook before returning to the group and shifting the focus to Will. I sink low into my chair and zone out for the rest of group.
The drive home is quiet too. I stare out the window, and the lights race across my face. My dad has tried to converse with me, but after five one-word answers, he’s given up on me. He hums quietly, solemnly with the music. And I’m struck by how similar he is to Lacey. My day began with happy cheery humming in the car and ends with humming that makes me sad. I close my eyes, heaviness on my chest as a tear traces out of the corner of my eye and lands on the new leather.