Catching Raven

by Smith, Lauren

  Never fucking happens.

  I glance down at my hand to make sure I’m in front of the same address I’ve written down. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a match. I kill the engine and brace myself for the familiar shitstorm that’s brewing. Old habits die hard.

  I slip my sunglasses into the collar of my shirt and knock on the door, eager to get this over with. A few seconds later, it opens up to reveal a shirtless, tattooed, middle-aged man with long greasy hair.

  Mom and her wannabe rockers....

  “Can I help you?” he asks, sizing me up.

  “I’m looking for Holly. Is she here?”

  “And you are?”

  “None of your concern.”

  Over his shoulder, I recognize my mom’s favorite old scrapbook displayed proudly on the end table. It’s filled with all her favorite childhood memories—ones that are “pre me.” That’s all the confirmation I need. Rugged Fabio starts to shut the door when I notice the gold wedding band on his finger. Mom’s not married. Fantastic. What a piece of shit. I stick my foot in the door and push my way through.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  I ignore him and search the apartment. “Mom?”

  My mom stumbles out of the bedroom wearing what I’m assuming is Fabio’s T-shirt. She’s sans pants. She tucks a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. A brief moment of surprise registers. It’s instantly replaced with anger. She attempts to cover her bare legs.

  “Eric, what are you doing here? I told you to call first.”

  “Nice to see you too, Mom. How’s life treating you?”

  “Don’t be a smartass,” she snaps, backtracking to fetch a pair of shorts off the floor. She turns her attention to the wannabe rocker. “Mark, this is my son, Eric. Eric, this is Mark. He’s a good friend.”

  “Clearly,” I deduce.

  Reluctantly, he steps forward and offers his hand. I don’t bother to shake it.

  “Don’t be rude,” my mom scolds.

  I point over my shoulder. “Don’t you think his wife would find it rude that you’re fucking each other behind her back?”

  “Watch it,” she warns.

  “Don’t talk to your mother that way. What’s going on between us is none of your business,” Mark adds.

  I laugh at their blatant lack of credibility. My hands leisurely run through my hair before I turn back to the woman who was forced to give birth to me. I’ve been here all of two seconds (which is one second too many) and I’m over it.

  “You know, I actually came here to have a real conversation with you. I wanted to see how you’re doing and share what’s new in my life. Explain how I’m dating a girl I’m crazy about, how I’m considering going back to school and switching jobs, how my art continuously keeps getting better and better. But you don’t care about any of that, do you?”

  Too much emotion. I pull a Mia and slip my sunglasses over my eyes to shield myself from her disarming stare. My mom and I don’t talk about this shit. Ever.

  I give her a reasonable five seconds to respond, but she comes up short. What else is new? We always seem to fail each other on every count—except one. Handing me off to my uncle was arguably the best thing she’s ever done for both our sakes, even though I hated her for it at the time.

  “What a waste of a trip,” I mutter, heading for the door.

  “Eric, wait,” she pleads.

  I stop.

  She looks torn, but doesn’t say anything more.

  “For the record, I didn’t ask for this shit to happen to me any more than you did. Keep that in mind the next time you want to blame me for all your problems.”

  That one penetrates her I-don’t-give-a-fuck exterior. She actually has the decency to look hurt. It doesn’t last, though. Never does. Her face flushes with shame when her eyes meet Mark’s. Oh, darn. Looks like she has some explaining to do.

  I slam the door and manage to avoid letting it hit my ass on the way out. The blinding sun hits my face like a spotlight, exposing my discomfort. Already one step ahead with these shades on. No wonder Mia uses this tactic—works like a charm.

  Even though I did my part, I feel incomplete. Closure is a luxury many people don’t even realize they have. Going through life in a perpetual state of disconnect is exhausting. And aggravating. What’s worse, your closure is often tied to another person. Problematic when they don’t feel like cooperating. Thank you, Mom, for not only making my life ten times harder than it had to be, but for refusing to validate my pain on top of that.

  SIXTEEN

  r a v e n

  Finals are right around the corner. I’ve been studying nonstop and busting my butt to finish up my internship hours. After pouring my third cup of coffee, I carefully review my PowerPoint slides for the umpteenth time. Eric’s been helping me study here and there, but his main jobs are to keep me caffeinated, sexually sated, and stocked up on highlighters/notecards. He’s only excelling in one area. I’ll let you guess which one.

  Speaking of the devil, in walks Eric with a giant bag of Kerbey Lane in his hand. My schedule’s been too hectic for date nights recently, so tonight we’ve carved out some much-needed alone time. I’ve been looking forward to it all week.

  “Breakfast for dinner. Is there anything better?” he asks rhetorically.

  “What’d you order?”

  He sets the bag down on the counter and pulls out two Styrofoam containers.

  “Apple-cinnamon pancakes with bacon and scrambled eggs, and biscuits ’n gravy with sausage links and fresh fruit. Which one are you feelin’?”

  “Pancakes, please.”

  “Thought so,” he says, checking the containers to see which one is which.

  He steals two forks from the kitchen drawer and plops down beside me on the couch. The last couple months have been a relatively smooth ride. We’re working through our issues and insecurities. Opening up is becoming more routine for him, but curbing my jealousy and trusting him not to screw me over has proven to be a recurring challenge. Sometimes I win that battle, sometimes I don’t. Most importantly, Eric’s starting to recognize his own worth. I just hope he can sustain it.

  “How was work?” I ask.

  “Long.”

  He takes a bite of biscuit and closes his eyes in utter contentment.

  “Mmmm. Damn, that hits the spot.”

  “Thanks for grabbing food,” I tell him.

  “My pleasure, baby. Thought you could use a break. How much time do you need to set aside for studying tonight?”

  I snarf a bite of pancake and shrug.

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  I shake my head.

  “In that case, I’ll probably dip out and hang with Chase after this.”

  His words hit a nerve. I convince myself I must’ve heard him wrong and swallow my food. “You just saw him two days ago.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Don’t you want to spend time with me?”

  “Of course I do, but you’re busy.”

  I set my container down on the coffee table and turn to face him. “Are you serious?”

  “Why are you getting worked up about this?”

  “Because I’ve hardly seen you these past couple weeks. We don’t even have time for Thursday Movie Nights anymore. If I’m not studying, I’m working late at the restaurant, or cramming last-minute hours at the boutique. Then, on the one night we actually have plans to hangout together, you go and make other plans of your own. Shady much?”

  “How is your lack of availability my fault?”

  “I didn’t say it was. But I am asking you stay the night.”

  As much as he tries to keep it subdued, I don’t miss the annoyance that flashes through his eyes.

  “What’s that look for?”

  “I honestly don’t see the point in hanging out if you’re going to be studying all night, that’s all. Seems pointless.”

  “Eric, how many times have you dragged me to places and events I would never go t
o on my own? A ton. I do it because I know it’s important to you, even if I don’t necessarily want to be there. It’s called give and take.”

  “Don’t sit there and lecture me on balance. I think I’ve been a great team player, all things considered.”

  “Why are you getting so defensive?”

  He stands up and runs his hands through his hair. “Because this is ridiculous. I don’t want to share you with a million other distractions. If your time and attention are going to be split, I’d rather wait until I can have you all to myself. I don’t see the problem with that.”

  “If we were going by that standard, I’d never see you.”

  “Again, not my fault. You can’t blame me for wanting your full attention.”

  “And you can’t blame me for wanting to see my boyfriend once in awhile.”

  “Maybe we should call it a night and quit while we’re ahead.”

  I slouch back into the couch. “If that’s what you want.”

  “Don’t do that,” he snaps. “Don’t test me after you’ve deliberately set me up to fail.”

  “I’m not,” I lie.

  “The hell you aren’t. I know a trap when I see one.”

  I stand up. “If you want to go, just go! I’m not stopping you.”

  It’s quiet.

  Too quiet.

  We stare at each other, the space is charged with palpable tension. Anger burns in his crystal blue eyes. He bends down to grab his biscuits ’n gravy and strides over to store them in the fridge. A tiny sliver of hope blooms in my chest at the thought that he might be back for them later. Or maybe he’s just saving them for me. My heart sinks at that prospect.

  He grabs his keys off the counter. “When you cool off, text me.”

  No promises.

  The front door opens and closes. I glance down at my pancakes, no longer feeling hungry. I hate it when he walks out during an argument. Biggest relationship pet peeve. Why do people do that? Quitters.

  I huff and get up to put my leftovers in the fridge. I grab a bottle of wine out of the door while I’m at it, forgoing the glass. I pop it open, raise the bottle to my lips, take generous gulps. Drinking when you’re pissed is never a good idea, but when there’s no one around to bitch at or cry to, I say go for it.

  An hour later, I’ve drained what was left in the bottle. Always a downer when that happens. Too drunk and aggravated to study, I saunter into the bedroom and crawl onto my comfortable bed and allow myself to pass out. Screw the impending hangover.

  Sometime during the middle of the night, I’m vaguely aware of the bed shifting. A warm body presses against my back. Paint fumes rouse my senses. Fingers idly stroke my hair. I inhale deeply and moan my appreciation. My heavy eyelids close and I fall back into a peaceful, drunken slumber, but not before a kiss meets my temple and the words “I love you, Rave,” are softly whispered into my ear.

  There’s no happiness in his words.

  Only sadness and defeat.

  A reaction I attribute to our fight.

  * * *

  Eric

  I’ve been seeing a therapist for the last few weeks. Raven has no idea. Not because she’s against therapy, but because she’d freak out if she knew the real reason why I’m sitting on this couch. In her mind, everything’s starry eyes and fairy tale finales. Truth is, I’m slipping. The delicate façade I’ve created to keep her happy is crumbling, and I can’t glue the pieces back together fast enough.

  If she only knew how much I desperately want to hit the self-destruct button, just so I can end the constant fear of letting her down. It haunts me every day. The anxiety is crippling. How do people deal? I’m not sure how much longer I can continue on like this. It’s exhausting pretending to be happy when I’m not. The amount of energy it takes to forge a smile is becoming unmanageable—hence my being here.

  “You seem on edge,” Dr. Coleman observes.

  No shit, Doc. Now fix me.

  “I can’t sleep. The stress of my anxiety is keeping me up at night.”

  “Do you know what’s causing it?”

  I shake my head. “It seems to be pouring out of everywhere.”

  “How often are you experiencing these feelings?”

  “Depends. At least a couple times a day. Usually more.”

  “And on a scale from one to ten, ten being the worst, how bad would you say the symptoms are?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Seven?”

  He jots that down. “Walk me through what’s bothering you.”

  “Where do I even begin?”

  “Wherever you want,” he encourages.

  My sweaty palms rub up and down my thighs nervously. No matter how many times I go through this process, I never seem to get acquainted with it.

  I exhale and flush my thoughts out in one shaky breath before I have a chance to reconsider.

  “I feel like I have no idea where I’m going in life. I’m completely lost. I have no concept of what I want to do; no real grasp on who I am, which is terrifying. It doesn’t help that failure is always in the back of my mind. Especially in regard to my current relationship, so I hold back to avoid disappointing anyone. This has been the norm throughout my life, by the way.”

  “The fear of failure? Or holding back?”

  “Both.” I clarify.

  “Okay. Keep going,” he urges, sensing there’s more.

  “I think people’s expectations are daunting and unfair. No matter how hard I try, I don’t live up to the standard that’s been set. I hate settling for mediocrity in any sense, but I don’t feel I deserve any better. I’m also afraid my mom will never forgive me for ruining her life, even though I didn’t do anything wrong. But most of all, I’m scared shitless because deep down I know that one way or another, I’ll probably have to break up with Raven in order to fix this mess. She’ll never want anything to do with me again. And not only will I have lost my best friend in the entire world, but I’ll have lost the one person who believes in me the most. It’s unbearable. So I disguise my true feelings and keep trudging on.”

  Gulp. Well, there you have it.

  “Are you in love with her?” he asks.

  “Easily. And if I’d waited to pursue something with her until I got my shit together, this wouldn’t even be an issue. But I’ve already fucked up one too many times. She’s fresh out of free passes and I need, like, ten more.”

  Hindsight blows.

  “Let’s back up for a minute. Tell me what you meant when you said the part about ruining your mother’s life. What happened there?”

  I proceed to tell him everything—the bad, the ugly, and the really fuckin’ ugly. He listens attentively, absorbing all I have to say. I keep it 100, even though part of me is dying to hold something back for my own preservation. I’m wise enough now to know that if I’m not open and brutally honest, it’ll get me nowhere. And I want to be better. Not only for Raven, but for myself. If there’s one thing she’s taught me, it’s that effort is everything. What you put into this world is what you get out of it. So I’m gonna give this all I got and pray it’s enough.

  “Have you ever tried talking to your mom about what you’ve both been through?”

  “No. That would be too functional for my family’s standards.”

  “Do you think she’d be willing to listen to what you have to say?”

  “Probably not,” I answer truthfully. “She’s been running from her pain for as long as I can remember. Besides, I’m not interested in repairing the relationship with my mom. I’m much more concerned about saving the relationship with my girlfriend.”

  Doc nods. “I understand where you’re coming from. But as your therapist, I’m more concerned about the relationship with your mom. Many of your unresolved issues stem from your childhood. If the two of you can sit down and manage an honest conversation, there’s a good chance you’ll be able to start working through some of these obstacles. Otherwise, you’re both bound to keep repeating the same patterns over and over aga
in—including in your relationships.”

  “And if she shuts me down? Then what?”

  “Then you and I focus on moving forward regardless.”

  “So you’re telling me I can swing this whole happy and healed thing without her?”

  “Of course you can. I just don’t want to rule out the possibility of a relationship with your mom if there’s still one in the cards.”

  “There’s not.”

  “Consider giving it a shot.”

  I open my mouth to protest.

  He raises a hand and cuts me off. “You don’t have to do anything right now, but keep it in the back of your mind for later. We’ll talk about it the next time I see you.”

  I rest my back into the couch and exhale my relief.

  I can do this, I tell myself.

  For the first time in years, there’s a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. Raven’s face appears in my mind. Then, like a gust of wind extinguishing an open flame, that flicker of light vanishes. A wave of dread washes over me. I swallow my unease and look back up.

  “What do I do about Raven? I can’t let her down again. There’s gotta be a way to work through this and still maintain a relationship with her, right?”

  “It’s your call. Is the relationship toxic?”

  “It’s the healthiest one I’ve ever had.”

  “You’re not dependent on her?”

  I tiptoe around the truth. “Not excessively. I’m an abandonment kid, remember? I push everyone away.”

  “Unless you’ve grown accustomed to having her in your life. In which case, you might be latching onto her because of your history with abandonment.”

  “We’re good,” I assure, all cool and collected.

  No, really. Everything’s fine.

  We’re going to pull through this.

  That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

  SEVENTEEN

  r a v e n

  Holidays came and went. Winter passed by in a blur. My final semester kicked off with a wild bash, and ended with a full-blown graduation extravaganza. Despite all these back-to-back surreal events, one thing has become achingly clear—Eric’s detachment from me. I’ve been watching him gradually slip away, drifting quietly in the midst of all the noise. He doesn’t even tell me where he goes anymore. We’ve fallen into a well-versed routine where I ask what’s bothering him, and he responds with a stoic, “Nothing, I’m fine.” Not wanting to be the pushy girlfriend, I drop the subject and wait until the next day rolls around to express my concern. He’s anything but fine. Even something as simple as going through the motions seems too much for him to bear.