“Fair enough. As long as we’re on the same page.”
She throws her hands up, exasperated. “When are we ever on the same page?”
I crack a small smile despite the heavy subject matter. Leave it to Raven to help me find the positive in something, no matter how bleak it may appear. Her fierce hope against all odds is what makes her both inspiring and delusional.
“There’ve been some bumps in the road,” I admit.
“Bumps? Try potholes.”
“Okay, so our track record isn’t the greatest, but I’d like to think we’re not completely shit out of luck.”
“As I recall, you once told me that it would happen for us one day. Funny how that seems so close, yet so far away.”
A wave of guilt washes over me. I swallow it down and slip my hands under the hem of her shirt, softly running my fingers up her bare back. The skin to skin contact is mollifying. Helps me formulate what I want to say.
“I want to do this right, but I’m afraid of failing you. You’ve been the one consistent person in my life for seven years. I know I’ve hurt you in the past, but you’ve managed to forgive me. Probably because of the friendship. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned about losing that luxury. You may not tolerate as much bullshit once we’re in a relationship, and knowing me I’ll find a way to fuck it all up. I always do.”
“So we’ll take it slow and see how it goes,” she proposes. “I can modify my expectations a little bit if you’re willing to put forth effort on your part. It’s the perfect compromise.”
“And if I can’t meet your expectations?”
She exhales. “Then we revert back to old patterns and die a pathetic pair of lonely, miserable, tragic lovers.”
“Now that’s romance.”
“Shakespeare would approve.”
“Just don’t kill yourself, okay? I know you’re dramatic by nature, but that’s going a tad overboard.”
She tilts my face up and kisses me senseless. I groan my appreciation and press her chest against mine. In an ideal world, I’d never have to let go of this feeling.
“Does this mean we’re exclusive?” she asks, breaking the kiss.
“This means we’re trial and error. If the product works, we’ll slap a label on it.”
“I can live with that as long as you promise to ditch the latté girls.”
My brows shoot up. “The what?”
“Your side chicks. I like to call them latté girls.”
“Do you now?” I couldn’t hide my amusement even if I tried.
She nods.
“Consider it done.”
“Good. Now let’s take this back to my place,” she suggests.
No argument here.
* * *
The sound of a camera shutter goes off as Raven snaps photo after candid photo of me absorbed in a graffiti mural. Ever since my spiel last week about not having enough memorable experiences to document, she’s taken it upon herself to provide me with an abundance of them. We’ve banked a disgusting amount of Kardashian worthy selfies, along with scenic snapshots from our nature walks. Who knew isolation with my dream girl could be so relaxing? Normally, my mind wouldn’t be able to handle the lack of distractions, but I’m adjusting to this whole self-discovery thing better than I expected. Raven, on the other hand, is whining nonstop about the bugs.
“Seriously, do I have a sign on my forehead that says ‘Eat me’?”
I stop spraying, turn around and raise an eyebrow.
She purses her lips. “You know what I mean.”
The corners of my mouth lift into a grin. I resume painting.
We’re hanging out at the HOPE Outdoor Gallery where artists can come and graffiti freely without having to worry about getting arrested or fined. It’s a safe place where our work can be appreciated instead of ridiculed. I do miss the thrill that comes with the illegal stuff, but it’s not worth the risk anymore. Not when there’s an option like this available.
After putting the finishing touches on my most recent contribution for society, I take a step back to admire the results. A giant blue Teddy bear graces the center of the wall—a cigar in one hand, a pale pink shotgun in the other. A red banner falls from above with the words “Suicide is for Quitters” plastered across it. I’m all about promoting positive messages.
Hypocrisy at its finest.
Raven captures a few pics, knowing it’ll be gone in a couple days when another artist comes along and paints over it.
Out with the old, in with the new.
“Are you hungry?” she asks in between snaps.
“Starving.”
“Me too. Wanna meet up with Chase and Mia to grab some Tex-Mex?”
I walk over, cup her chin, and bring her in for a swift kiss. “Sounds good, baby.”
“I’ll meet you in the car.”
I load up all my paint cans and follow her down. I’m amazed at how well things are going. I know it’s only the early stages, but I was expecting all sorts of drama to rise up and defeat us before we even had a chance to flourish. Always does. It’s different this time, though, which makes me nervous. I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop. I don’t want us to fall apart, but history shows a long-standing relationship isn’t promising. Maybe we got it right this time. Or maybe I’m just doing what I’ve always done every time something good happens in my life—mentally preparing for its inevitable demise.
We hit up Freebirds for some burritos and chips ’n queso. As soon as we walk in, Chase and Mia stand up and join us in the order line. Chase and I pay, then we all grab a table and tear into our food.
A few bites in, Chase starts throwing curious glances between Raven and me. “So, are y’all a thing now?”
“Something like that,” I reply, dunking a chip in queso and popping it in my mouth.
“Yeah, but he won’t give me the label,” Raven gripes.
Chase glares at me like I’m an idiot. “You won’t give her the label? The hell is wrong with you?”
“We’re taking it slow. Besides, everyone knows my heart belongs to you,” I bat my eyes at him.
Mia laughs and Raven chokes on her rice.
Unamused, Chase refuses to let the subject drop.
“After all these years, you still won’t budge on the label?”
Mia leans forward in her chair. “Whoa, whoa, wait. What do you mean after all these years?” She cuts her gaze to Raven. “You told me you’ve only liked Eric for the last year.”
“It’s complicated,” she dismisses.
I freeze with my drink near my lips. Why would Raven tell Mia she’s only been into me for a year? Is she ashamed of her feelings for me or something?
“Unbelievable,” Mia leans back, irked. “Not only am I the last to know everything, but I’m deliberately served bullshit.”
“You and me both,” I mutter, raising my glass in the air.
Raven ignores my comment and sips on her sweet tea. No doubt I’ll be hearing about this later. Probably somewhere in the ballpark of thirty times.
Chase clears his throat. “Anyway….”
“Enough about us. What about you two?” I ask, all too eager to shine the spotlight on someone else.
Mia perks up and locks eyes with Chase. I’m sincerely hoping Raven and I don’t look this sappy in public.
“Same as you guys. Taking things slow,” she answers.
“What’s your definition of slow? Cause this,” I motion between the two of them, “is moving faster than a bad case of the Taco Bell shits.”
Mia scrunches up her nose. “That’s disgusting.”
“Ew, Eric. We’re eating here,” Raven complains.
Chase laughs and gives me a knowing look.
“We’re doing what works for us. There. How about that?” Mia sasses.
I slap my palms down on the table and stiffen. “Hold up. You mean to tell me that people can take their relationships at whatever pace they desire? No conventional methods necessary?”
I turn to seize Raven’s face in my hands and give her a hard shake. “My God, Rave. What have we done? Did we miss the memo?”
Mia kicks me under the table. “All right. You made your point.”
I release Raven and settle back into my chair with a triumphant smirk.
Mia frowns.
“Don’t look so offended, Strawberry. Rave and I, we’ve been on training wheels for years. Can’t seem to get off the damn things. It’s relationships for retards and I’m the biggest one. I haven’t even taken her out on a real date yet.”
I pause and process those last words. Way to miss the mark, Eric.
As if I didn’t feel undeserving of her already, now I’ve sunk to a new level of humiliation. The single most important person in my life has been settling for mediocre romance. WTF is wrong with me?
The rest of the group falls back into a familiar rhythm of laughter and sarcastic banter, while I’m off in my own world desperately trying to figure out a way to rectify the situation.
FOURTEEN
r a v e n
“Turn around and let me get a good look at you.”
I spin and face my laptop screen so Tori can check out my outfit. I’ve chosen a floral sundress that flares out at the hips and rose pink Jessica Simpson pumps, forgoing my usual assortment of accessories and over-the-top makeup. I wanted to change it up for a more natural look and take Eric by surprise for our date. He’s always telling me to keep it real in all forms.
“Do you think he’ll like it?” I ask timidly, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles in my skirt.
She bends forward to put her cigarette out and leans back to reassess me.
“That new habit will kill you, by the way,” I add.
“Really?” she feigns shock. “But they’re so good.”
“Can you taste the essence of death? Cause she’s distantly calling your name.”
“Quite the opposite, actually. I taste life in those babies. Besides, do you know how many times I’ve heard that warning?”
“And yet you’re still smoking,” I reply flatly.
“We all have our vices. Some are just more harmful than others. At least I work out to compensate for it. That’s gotta add a few years, right?”
I shake my head, knowing I’ll never be able to get through to her. Hopefully one day she’ll come to her senses and quit on her own accord. Life’s too meaningful to die of something so inconsequential.
“Back to the dress. Yea or nay?”
“Definitely yeah. And can I just say how stoked I am that y’all have finally pulled your heads out of your asses?”
“You and me both.”
“Where’s he taking you?”
“No idea. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”
She grins. “Even better.”
A loud knock on my front door cuts our Skype session short.
“That’s him. Gotta go,” I say, wrestling my feet into my pumps and rushing to the other side of the room for one final glance in the mirror.
“Okay. Have fun tonight. Call or text me when you get home and tell me everything.”
“Will do,” I assure.
“Bye!”
“Bye!”
The call ends. I exhale, seize my clutch, and try to be casual. “Come in.”
Eric lets himself in. I slow my pace in the middle of the hallway, anxiously awaiting his reaction. He closes the door and turns to face me. His eyes widen. A slow smile appears as his eyes rake my body from head to toe.
“Do we really have to leave this apartment right now?”
“Yes.”
His shoulders sink. He strides over, tilts my chin up, brings me in for a series of chaste kisses.
“Hate it when you ruin my fun,” he says.
“Get used to it.”
He releases my chin and digs through a bag I didn’t even realize he was holding.
“What’s in there?”
He swings it away from my prying eyes.
“None of your business. Is Mia home?”
“No, she’s job hunting. Why? You wanna take her out instead?”
“Ha ha. Very cute.”
I smile. “I try.”
He glances at the clock on the microwave.
“Shit. We gotta bounce or we’re gonna be late. Come on.”
Eric drives like a maniac until we reach our destination. He cruises into a parking lot filled with cars, finds a spot somewhere in the middle. He parks, cracks the windows, and kills the engine. A large movie screen graces the lot next to a couple of food trailers. The sun’s just beginning to set in the sky.
“Ever been to a drive-in?” Eric asks.
I shake my head, feeling very out of place with my dress and heels on.
“They’re the best,” he insists.
“I’m way overdressed. Why didn’t you tell me to change?”
“We didn’t have time. You take forever to get ready as it is. Besides, I’m a fan of the outfit,” he gently tugs on the hem of my dress and gives me a crooked smile.
He reaches into the backseat and grabs the reusable bag I saw him carrying earlier. He pulls out two plastic forks, two plastic cups, and a variety of different desserts, placing them all on the dash. Everything from molten chocolate cake, to strawberry cheesecake, to tiramisu greets my eyes. My stomach growls in response.
“Picked these up from H-E-B on the way over. Thought you might be hungry.”
Oh, my God. Pretty sure I just fell in love with him all over again. Of course, in true Eric fashion, he also pulls out a large bottle of wine.
“We can’t drink that in here,” I tell him.
“Says who?”
I give him my no-nonsense stare. “Eric, if we get caught we’re screwed. We’re in a car for crying out loud.”
“Relax. It’s just one glass. You’ll be the one doing most of the work. You know wine is not my preference.”
“There are people all around us.”
“So we’ll wait until it gets dark,” he says with an obvious tone.
He sticks the bottle down between his legs and peels off the foil seal from around the neck.
I glance around nonchalantly to make sure no one is watching. Thankfully, everyone’s absorbed in their own conversations.
“Do you have a wine opener?”
“Sure do.”
He reaches over, pops the glove box open, grabs a paintbrush. He uses the sharp end to press down on the cork with all his might.
“You look constipated.”
“It’s a good look on me, right?”
I stifle a grin.
He presses down again, his face turning as bright red as the sunset. He exhales harshly. “Hold the bottle, dude.”
I double over and hold the bottle still while he concentrates on whittling the cork down. We’re starting to draw attention, making me paranoid. With a squeaky pop, the cork shoots straight down into the bottle. I sit up and immediately glance around to find everything exactly as it was. Eric throws the paintbrush back into the glove compartment and relaxes.
“Damn, they really make you work for it.”
“Not so easy when you don’t have a proper opener, is it?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he cradles the bottle between his feet and waits for the sun to fully set before pouring me a glass.
“How often do you come here?” I ask.
“Probably three or four times a year. I figured since we both love movies and it’s become tradition for me, I’d bring you. The vibe is spot-on. Beautiful sunset, breathtaking girl, classy desserts, rundown parking lot, sketchy neighborhood, cork-filled wine, plastic utensils: It’s urban meets upscale.” He looks over and smiles. “Just like us.”
“Why do you insist on believing you’re unrefined? You’re not.”
“I am when I’m sitting next to you,” he argues.
“Whatever. I’ve never treated you that way.”
“I know. That’s what I love about you.”
I swallow pas
t the lump in my throat. That’s the closest he’s ever come to dropping the “L” word. Since he’s not one to express vulnerability more than once in a near decade, I hold on tight to the feeling.
As if on cue, our attention is summoned to the screen when the opening credits for The Breakfast Club start rolling. I squeeze his hand and shift around in my seat, unable to contain my excitement. Thank God it’s not a stoner comedy. With Eric, you never know what you’re in for. Could’ve been something stupid like Dazed and Confused or Pineapple Express.
“It’s eighties night,” he explains.
“You’re the best boyfriend ever.”
My body tenses.
Nooooo!
Must fabricate an explanation before he freaks out.
“Uh, I mean—”
He silences me with a reassuring kiss.
“Shh. No talking during the movie,” he whispers against my lips.
He sits back and stares at the screen without a care in the world, as if I didn’t just drop one of the most frightening words for a commitment phobe. Only word worse than boyfriend is exclusivity. Of course, I could have called him the old ball and chain. That little gem signals imminent death in the eyes of tools everywhere. See, Rave? It could’ve been worse.
I reach out and not-so-secretly slide the tiramisu off the dash until it magically falls into my lap. Would you look at that! I peek over at Eric, then back down at the dessert. Eyes on Eric. Eyes on yummy dessert. Finally, he sighs and says, “Just grab a fork and eat it, Raven.”
Well, if he insists....
I snag one of the plastic forks sitting in the cup holder and dig in. Tastes like heaven. He grabs the other fork and tears into the chocolate cake. I lean over and steal a bite. Or three. Before long, we’re both completely engrossed in the movie. Then we’re engrossed in a heavy make-out sesh. I blame Molly Ringwald and Judd Nelson. They started it. Cliché? Yup. Do I care? Nope. I’m a Princess and he’s a Criminal. Sound familiar?
FIFTEEN
e r i c
I park the car with a weighted heart and even heavier conscience. It’s that time again. I’ve put off visiting my mom for far too long. Miraculously, she’s been in the same spot for the last six months.
Catching Raven Page 14