by Nicole Hart
I pushed my feelings down deep and put on the fakest smile I could muster. It had become easy through the years; I had it down. It didn’t even take effort anymore.
We made our rounds, mingling with older men in thousand-dollar suits and women who dripped money. I ignored the self-conscious doubt nagging at my inner thoughts as I pulled at my thrift store dress.
“Your hair is lovely, darling.” An older woman with a rock on her finger the size of a marble ran her long, manicured fingers over my thick auburn locks. It was my best feature, and even though I used cheap shampoo from the dollar store, it never showed. I was thankful to be able to hold onto that tiny luxury.
“Thank you so much.” I offered a genuine smile at her compliment. Because the truth was, I didn’t get them very often.
We began to chat for a few minutes about the city, and I was grateful she didn’t ask what I did for a living. Somehow, I couldn’t imagine being a career waitress sat very high on her list of fantastic career choices. I realized Brian had left my side, and I glanced around the room, trying to place him.
The woman must have assumed I was bored with our conversation because she quickly excused herself, leaving me feeling guilty.
I started to make my way around the room, sipping on a wine glass filled with water, searching for my date. I didn’t want to lose him during this party. I already felt like a duck out of water without having isolation added to my discomfort.
As I turned the corner, I spotted Brian standing close to the blonde, with her silicone-filled boobs brushing casually against his chest. I knew better than to come. I knew he was an asshole; he never even tried to pretend he wasn’t.
I cleared my throat and waited to catch his attention. When it didn’t work, I tried one more time. He stopped mid-sentence and looked over his shoulder, squinting his eyes at me.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” I smirked, folding my arms across my chest.
“Um, are you two here together?” Her squeaky voice made me want to throat punch her, as she looked back and forth between us, waiting on an answer.
“We’re not together.” Brian shook his head, blowing me off and turning his attention back to the blonde.
And it was true. We weren’t together. So I had no idea why the hell I was even here. I turned on my heel and made my way through the crowd without another word.
“Jessica, wait!” I heard Brian’s voice boom behind me, drawing closer with each step each of us took.
A sigh of relief escaped me, and I stopped in my tracks, turning around to face him, hope running through my veins.
“Do you need cab money?” he asked, reaching for his wallet.
I stood corrected—the blonde didn’t deserve the throat punch. Brian did.
“I don’t,” I responded with a half-smile, which was actually genuine. His douchebag tendencies were almost comical, and the blonde had done me a favor.
“I’ll call you in a few days.” He smiled and turned his back to me with a nod.
Tears welled in my eyes. Not because of Brian, but rather my own stupidity. I would never learn. He’d never change, and I didn’t understand why I kept dragging this bullshit out.
I raced toward the door and didn’t slow my pace until the crisp night air smacked me in the face. Waving my hand above my head to hail a cab, my mind quickly calculated the fare all the way back into Brooklyn.
I should have taken the asshole’s money.
Chapter Three
I hadn’t spoken to Brian in two days, and I was okay with it. For now. I had been swamped at work—without enough time to really think. But every time he crossed my mind, my stomach twisted into knots. I didn’t understand how it was possible to be so disgusted by someone yet long for them to be better at the same time. Brian was more of a habit than anything else at this point. He partially filled the void I had inside—as unhealthy as it was. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind he’d had sex with the blonde. I was also sure he wouldn’t have a problem telling me so if I asked. But I wouldn’t. Because even though we weren’t together, I still loved him.
At least I thought I did.
Maybe it was more the idea of him. And the bullshit lines he gave me in the beginning had worked. I believed he wanted me, and only me. I believed he wanted a relationship that would go somewhere. I believed him when he told me he was tired of pointless hookups and one-night stands. But after almost two years of waiting for our relationship to move forward, for him to take us seriously, I threw in the towel. I told Brian we were over until he decided to get serious. And that lasted about a week.
Until the night he came knocking on my door, drunk on whiskey, and climbed into my bed, professing his love for me and inability to live without me. I was ecstatic—on cloud nine. I had finally made my point, and I would get my happily ever after. But when I woke up the next morning to an empty bed and no phone call for days, I knew it was just another ploy. I believed yet another one of his lies. But it was a mistake I had continued to make for the last six months. It was pathetic really.
In the beginning, he always told me what I needed to hear. That was his game. And that was how he’d hooked me. And then when he realized he could get away with doing what he wanted, that’s exactly what he did. He knew I was a doormat and took full advantage of it. Taking what he needed and throwing me back when he was done. But always tossing in his little deceptions, knowing I would buy into it because I needed to in order to believe in who we were as a couple. His lies became the thread in the fabric of our woven fairytale—only this was Grimm’s version, not Disney’s. I needed a backbone. Soon.
“You look beat. I’ll finish up here, honey.” Nancy, one of the other waitresses, chuckled as she whizzed past me, a tray of dishes in her hands.
“I’m not leaving you here with this mess.” The half-empty salt and pepper shakers stacked in front of me, the perfect match to Nancy’s hair, sat waiting to be filled.
“Honey, I’ve got three grandbabies who wouldn’t know how to clean up after themselves if their sweet little lives depended on it. This is nothing.” Her raspy laugh filled the almost empty café.
“I don’t know how you do it, Nancy—taking care of those kids plus working full time.”
“Don’t forget my online classes.” She beamed with pride, shuffling past me once again.
“How could I forget our future college graduate?” The first chuckle that had escaped my lips in days filled the room.
“The first in our family, thank you very much. Even if it did take me until the ripe old age of fifty-six.” She exerted a loud sigh followed by boisterous laughter as she took a seat across from me.
“I know your family must be very proud of you.” I stopped filling the containers and reached across the bar to squeeze her hand, briefly.
“Well, my husband swears I’ll work myself into an early grave and the babies…” Her voice trailed off for a moment as she stared downward. “Well, they’re too little to really know what’s going on. Thank the Lord in heaven.”
“Have you heard anything about an early release for your son?”
“The court wants to cut him a deal if he gives the information they want, but he’s scared to talk,” she whispered, shaking her head as she got busy rolling silverware into napkins. “I just don’t understand how folks get mixed up in all that mess.” Her fingers moved feverishly.
Nancy’s son and daughter-in-law were pulled over in New Jersey with more than a little cocaine. Both were sent to jail, and social services took the kids. Either Nancy took custody of them, or they would be separated into foster homes. In Nancy’s words “It would be a cold day in hell before them babies were split up.”
She was a strong woman—the kind of grandmother I wished I had as a kid. Maybe my life would have turned out a lot differently. But I couldn’t change my history; I could only try to make a better future. I learned long ago that dwelling on the past didn’t get me anywhere, especially when it was filled with less than fond memories.<
br />
Chapter Four
The morning sun blazed through my window, forcing me to turn onto my stomach and bury my face into my pillow. It was my first day off in almost two weeks, and crawling out of this bed wasn’t on my to-do list today. I just wanted to sleep the hours away. I didn’t have anything else on the agenda, and my body was exhausted. I was twenty-four years old, but some days, I felt like I must be pushing forty. My body got heavier as it started to sink back into my worn mattress. My comfortable, at-one-with-my-body mattress.
“Jessica,” a tiny, familiar voice whispered in my ear.
“Go away,” I mumbled.
“Jessica.” The squeaky tone mixed with warm breath tickled my ear, my fingers rubbing against it instinctively.
The early morning sun shone into my eyes as I tried to pry them open, spotting the ratty blond hair hovered over me.
“What do you want, Maxi?” I tried to be aggravated with her, but her messy locks and wild eyes almost made me laugh. Almost. Until I realized what day it was, and I knew how disappointed she was about to be.
“It’s Christmas morning.” Her toothless grin covered her face, and her big ocean-blue eyes lit up. Poor kid.
“It is.” I forced a smile and said a quick prayer for a holiday miracle, but I knew better. Miracles didn’t happen around here.
“Let’s go see what Santa brought us.”
Maxi knew the rules. She wasn’t allowed to leave our bedroom without me. Her father seemed to feel guilty when his little girl walked in on him sticking a needle into his vein. Not guilty enough to keep the needle out of his arm, though. Instead, he just required one of the older kids to check out the house before she left the room.
The situation was completely messed up. It was okay for the older kids in the house to watch their parents shoot up, just not the little ones. I suppose they knew the older kids would keep their mouths shut. We knew better.
I sat up on the old queen-size mattress I shared with Maxi and my little sister, Shelby, who hadn’t even budged.
Maxi was busy putting a sweater over her nightgown and long socks that were way too big for her tiny feet.
“It’s cold in here,” she whispered through chattering teeth as she busied herself with the task at hand.
I repeated her actions, the only difference was my socks fit—they just didn’t match. But it didn’t matter, they provided warmth against the cold wooden floors.
Maxi stood behind the door, waiting for me to give her the all clear to exit.
Pathetic.
I walked into the empty living room and glanced in all directions. There was no sign of my mom or my stepfather. There also wasn’t any sign of Christmas morning. Not a single present. Not a Christmas tree. Nothing except for the six socks us kids had converted into stockings and hung over the fireplace, the only source of heat in our old house. We’d found markers and put our names on them, and drew on candy canes and Christmas trees. All of us longed for some sort of Christmas. But it wouldn’t happen. Not this year.
I didn’t want to walk back into our bedroom and break the news to Maxi. I hated to see the disappointment on her face or the tears in her eyes.
“Let’s just go back to sleep, okay?” I whispered as I walked through the bedroom door, unable to look down at her.
“Is Daddy doing bad stuff in there?” Her question was quiet and full of worry.
“No,” I mumbled.
“Then let’s go see!” Her voice converted to an excited whisper as she ran past me into the cold living room, and the floor creaked with each step her tiny feet took.
“Maxi, wait!” I whispered as loudly as I could without actually raising my voice while I ran behind her.
She came to a halt and stared in all directions, searching, inspecting. She trotted over to the fireplace and pulled the stocking with her name on it off the nail. Her little hand reached inside, and she shoved her thin arm as far as it would reach into the makeshift stocking and wiggled her fingers around. Then she dropped the old sock on the floor and sat down quietly, crossing her legs in front of her and resting her face in her delicate hands.
I rushed to her side and knelt down beside her, wrapping my arms around her as she cried. My eyes filled with tears when her body trembled.
“It’s not fair,” she whimpered.
“I’m sorry.” I ran my hands over her hair, holding her close to me, trying to soothe her.
“I was good all year. I made sure of it. I didn’t even tattle on Jenny Rose when she told all the kids I got my clothes from the dumpster. I was good, Jessica. I was good.”
“I know you were, Maxi. I know.”
“Then why didn’t Santa come?” She raised her head and stared into my eyes, her tear-soaked face red and blotchy.
“I don’t know.” I didn’t have an answer for her. I didn’t understand why we were dealt the hand we were.
* * *
My body jerked awake with the sound of a door slamming. I sat up quickly, alone in my bed, but my eyes brimmed with tears. I hated that my dreams were always filled with awful memories instead of the nonsense most people experienced. I didn’t dream about flying or walking down the street naked. I dreamt of my past. And it was always as vivid as the day it took place, and my psyche never left out a single, gory detail. Every time, it was crystal clear recollection. All I ever wanted was to forget those details, the nuances that constructed my childhood. But it didn’t happen.
Maxi’s face ran through my mind. I tried not to think about her, but sometimes I just couldn’t help it. I wondered how she was and if she was all right. I tried to envision what she looked like now and imagined her with a blissful life. Hell, I wondered if any of them had ended up happy. It was hard not to ponder whether they blamed me or if they even thought about me. Maybe I was easily forgotten, or possibly it was easier to cope if the past remained distant.
I was better off to try to ignore my own nagging thoughts. Besides, this was my only day off. I didn’t want to spend it depressed and wallowing in a past I couldn’t change or wondering about a life that might have been.
Chapter Five
Staring at the ceiling took its toll on me. I spent the last hour examining the tiny cracks in the plaster and watching the light fixture shake. Apparently, our upstairs neighbors decided a Thursday morning was the best time for a dance party. Finally, I threw the blankets off me and stood up. I decided to make a quick trip to the market around the corner. I was almost out of tea, and it was the one thing I counted on each and every day. Maybe Braxton would be up for a walk, although I hadn’t heard her this morning. I wasn’t great about keeping up with her schedule, so I didn’t know for sure if she had class or work today.
As I opened my bedroom door, silence engulfed me, which added to the empty feeling that seemed to linger inside me almost every second of the day. The rest of the apartment was void of any noise. No TV blaring. No pots and pans rattling from Braxton’s latest meal idea. The consistent hum of the traffic outside was the only sound that permeated our space. And this was New York City, that sound never went away and was almost undetectable anymore—it was merely white noise that usually provided comfort.
“Brax?” I called out, the sound of my bare feet padding across the hardwood floor echoing through the room.
Silence.
I was accustomed to rolling solo. It’s what I did, and today wouldn’t be any different. I opened my closet door and pulled my favorite pair of faded jeans from the hanger. I had spent the last few weeks in a waitressing uniform or sweat pants, so real pants were a welcomed reprieve, which was strange. Putting on my favorite jeans would be the highlight of my day off. My life really was pitiful.
I shrugged off the self-loathing brewing inside me and slid the jeans over my hips and buttoned them before staring in the mirror nailed to my closet door. A loud groan escaped my lips as I examined myself in them. They were at least two sizes too big now and hung from my hips in the most ridiculous fashion.
Aft
er a little makeup and running a brush through my long and naturally wavy hair, I strolled into the streets of the city and couldn’t help but grin at my surroundings. The air was dirty, and the city was loud, but it was home. I never felt like I belonged anywhere, but this place was the closest I had ever experienced to home. Maybe it came with time, and the last six years I’d spent here had brought me comfort. Maybe it was my ability to maneuver my way through the streets without a second glance. Or maybe it was simply that I didn’t have anywhere else to go. Whatever the reason, I was content here. And hopefully one day, I’d find happiness here.
I stopped at the local coffee shop and grabbed a cup of tea to go before finding a bench on the sidewalk. Sitting down, I held the steaming cup to my lips and inhaled the comforting scent of the liquid. I always caught myself watching people and today was no different. But then I noticed this man, and everyone else seemed to fade into the distance. He was tall and muscular with tattoos covering his massive arms. His bald scalp gleamed in the sunlight, but it wasn’t a receding hairline, he was completely bald—as if it were intentional, like he shaved it. His ears were gauged and his eyes were the most stunning emerald green I had ever seen. They sparkled from ten feet away, and I tried to force myself to avert my gaze, but I couldn’t. He offered me a quick glance before shoving his hands into his pockets and walking to the pretzel stand to my right. No matter how hard I tried to focus on the other people shuffling around, my eyes kept drifting back to him. Regardless of the effort I exerted in diverting my attention to something else, my focus kept returning to the tattooed man. I watched with rapt concentration as he ordered a pretzel and then accepted it from the vendor, almost carefully, with a napkin wrapped all the way around the soft, twisted dough. He stared intently at the condiments he’d picked up as he walked away. A few feet from the vendor, he stopped in his tracks and returned some of them. My head tilted to the side as he then switched the pretzel from one hand to the other, grabbed more mustard and then turned on his feet again. He gave the vendor a nod, who returned it with a pleasant smile.