Catching Raven

by Smith, Lauren

  “Better not tell Ari that I’m your favorite.”

  “She probably already knows.”

  “Yeah, but no need to rub it in her face.”

  We come to a stop at the end of the hallway. Emilio spins around to face me. “Wait here,” he says, then disappears into the party room. Less than a minute later, he reappears with a gift bag in his hand.

  “I’m not off for another two hours and I wanted to give you this ahead of time.”

  I’m kinda speechless. Gifts aren’t his MO.

  “Open it,” he encourages.

  I reach over and take the bag from him, then gently pull the stuffing out and peek inside. Resting at the bottom is a brand new sketchbook and a case of sketching pencils. I suck in a sharp breath. My gaze immediately finds his.

  “Emilio—”

  He cuts me off.

  “I know it’s not your first sketchbook, but it’s your first professional one. You’re going to need it in design school because you’re going to kill the competition.”

  Tears well in my eyes. “You’re crazy.”

  “Hush. I don’t want to hear it. Just say thank you and accept the gift.”

  I smile harder than I have in weeks, completely overcome with emotion. “Thank you so much. They’ll both be put to good use.”

  “I know they will,” he assures. He steps back and motions his head toward the party room. “Now get in there. You’ve got people waiting, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

  Excitement floods my chest. I lean up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek and stride past him. I sneak another glance inside the bag, antsy to draw up some new sketches. Holding off until school starts isn’t an option anymore. Not when I have access to these.

  I drop my clutch inside the bag and grab both handles, then push the doors wide open. Once I step inside, all of my closest friends and family pop out from behind tables and surprise me. I give them my best oh-my-god-I-never-saw-this-coming face and hope they buy it.

  Twinkling lights and flickering candles cast a magical glow over the room, radiating a sense of warmth. Being surrounded by unconditional love helps, too. Large platters of red velvet cupcakes grace the center of confetti-filled tables. Every last detail is well thought-out and perfectly executed, down to the design of the napkins. They’re folded to look like black, strapless cocktail dresses with a ring of faux diamonds and pearls to hold it together around the waistline. My eyes scan the crowd for the one person who’s responsible for managing every major and minor detail, not only for tonight’s event, but for every milestone in my life—my mom. I spot her and mouth the words “Thank you,” even though it’s not nearly enough.

  Her smile bursts with pride as she mouths “Love you” right back.

  I take a moment to absorb everything. It’s overwhelming, but in the best possible way. Mia and Tori both come running up, fully decked out in flapper headbands and long beads. I drop the gift bag and wrap an arm around each of them, going in for a group hug.

  “Sorry for ditching you outside, but I had to get in here and warn everyone before you came in,” Mia says into my ear.

  I pull back to smile at her. “You’re forgiven.” My head twists in Tori’s direction. “What are you doing here? I thought you were staying in San Marcos for the summer.”

  “Oh, bitch, please. Like I’d miss this party.”

  She twirls around to grab a headband and some beads off a nearby table, then she slips the pearls around my neck and carefully places the headband over my head.

  “There,” she says, satisfied. “Now you’re sorta a flapper girl.”

  “Very 1920s of you,” I praise.

  “I did my homework.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Alright you three, huddle together for a quick photo op,” my mom interrupts.

  We line up and wind our arms around each other’s waists. Mom whips out her iPhone and counts to three. Seconds before she snaps the photo, Chase slips in through the doors and jumps in the shot for a glorious photobomb. Mia looks over her shoulder and pushes him backwards.

  “What?” he shrugs. “I’m extremely photogenic.”

  She grins and shakes her head, then focuses her attention on my mom for a retake. This time around, we get it right.

  “Everyone grab a plate and feel free to help themselves,” my mom announces. “Andre and I are going to run out front and get some pitchers so we have drinks.”

  “Sounds good,” I say, grabbing a plate and stealing a cupcake. I peel the foil off the sides and lick the cream cheese frosting.

  Mom’s a goddess.

  That’s all there is to it.

  I eat, then make my rounds, hitting up every person who took the time to come out and celebrate tonight. Everyone’s curious what my long-term goals are and whether or not I plan on coming back to Austin. Not having the slightest idea of what lies ahead, I keep it very noncommittal. It’s strange not to have everything mapped out. Liberating, but strange.

  Later in the evening, as guests start trickling out the door, I use the brief window of opportunity to sneak off to a bathroom stall and check my phone for any missed calls or texts. I wrestle the device out of my clutch and stare down at the screen. A spasm assaults my chest.

  MDJD: Congratulations on your acceptance, Rave. I’m so fucking proud of you and how far you’ve come. Celebrate hard because you deserve it. Miss you like a drug, love you like a cure.

  Seeing his words displayed across my screen softens every part of me. I hate the affect he has on my heart. I hate that he’s not here to make it better. I hate that every time I’m alone, my body aches for his touch. Love is supposed to make you strong, not weak. So why do I feel shortchanged? I gave it my all and he walked away. Maybe I’m the one who should’ve left. How do we know when to keep fighting and when to forfeit?

  I’m tempted to type out a response, but I don’t want to give him the wrong impression. What’s done is done. There’s no turning back. He made his choice and now we both have to live with it. Still, knowing he’s out there thinking about me, wherever he is, gives me a small sliver of satisfaction.

  Chalking it up to a momentary lapse in judgment, I hit reply.

  Me: I miss you too. I’m sorry for all the times we fought over stupid stuff. It seems so trivial now. I should’ve been more understanding when you needed me.

  MDJD: Rave, I told you before there was nothing you could’ve done. Let it go.

  Me: I can’t. I just felt like it was time for me to own up to my part. I know how judgmental I can be sometimes.

  MDJD: I’m no walk in the park either. We both fucked up, and we’re both learning from our mistakes. Now quit stealing my traits ;).

  That one makes me smile.

  Me: Please know that I hope you find what you’re looking for...

  I put my phone on silent and drop it back in my clutch, vowing not to look at it for the rest of the night.

  I don’t even last fifteen minutes. Doesn’t matter anyway because there’s no response.

  TWENTY

  e r i c

  I’m staring at a blank canvas when a sense of impending doom travels up my spine, causing every hair on the back of my neck stand straight up. I set down the paint can and walk over to the window and peer through the blinds. Just as I suspected, Mom’s pulling into the driveway. I glance down at my phone. She’s twenty-five minutes late. Could’ve sworn she was gonna flake. Secretly wish she would have. She’s interrupting my painter’s block and derailing my busy schedule. I had a full day planned of lying out in the sun, doing nothing. A much-needed sign that I need to get back to real life. Unemployment was fun while it lasted, but I’m beyond bored and broke.

  What else is new?

  Mom steps out of the car with a bag of chips in her hand. She dusts leftover crumbs off her jean shorts, then bends down to grab a beach bag and slings it over her shoulder. Does she think we’re going swimming or something?

  Holy shit. What if that’s an overnight ba
g?

  I’m royally screwed.

  A gust of wind blows her blonde out of her face and ruffles her blouse. I can feel her stare at me, even though her eyes are hidden beneath a pair of thick black shades. She nods, then she pushes the car door shut and walks my way. I take a calming breath and brace myself, moving to the front door to let her in.

  “Hey there,” she greets, stepping inside. She lifts her sunglasses onto her head and takes a sweeping glance around the room.

  I close the door behind her and ease back.

  “Hey yourself. What’s with the bag?”

  Her gaze drops to the tote. “Oh, I brought some beach stuff in case this turns into an all-day thing.”

  Thank God. She’s not staying the night. My body relaxes slightly.

  “You seem...different,” she notes, her eyes appraising me.

  Interesting comment coming from someone who barely knows me.

  “Want something to drink?” I offer.

  “Yeah, an iced tea or a water would be great.”

  I disappear into the kitchen and grab a clean glass from the dishwasher. Opening the fridge, I pour a glass of tea, then set the pitcher back inside and steal a handful of ice from the freezer. Mom sets her tote, keys, and chips on the counter. She wanders over to the back door and stares out the window, soaking up the ocean view.

  “It’s so beautiful here.”

  “Have you been to Crystal Beach before?”

  She shakes her head. “I’ve lived in Austin all my life and I’ve never been down here. Crazy, huh?”

  I shrug even though she can’t see it. “Not really. I think many people share a similar experience. When you live so close to a place like this, you don’t appreciate it like you should. You either spend so much time here that you’re desensitized, or you put it off thinking there’s always going to be another tomorrow. But time gets away from you and excuses start piling up. Same recipe for everything else in life. Then, before you know it, you’ve been confined to what you’re familiar with, and the wild dreams and exhilarating travel plans you once had fade away and become nothing more than woulda coulda shouldas. It’s cruel and unusual punishment. Death by complacency.”

  No clue where that rant came from.

  She glances over her shoulder, an array of different emotions dance across her face. “There are far worse things than mediocrity, Eric. Trust me. I’ve straddled that line for years. But you did just describe my entire life in one depressing paragraph.”

  I shut my mouth and make an effort to curb the negativity. Closing the space between us, I hand her the iced tea.

  “Thanks,” she says, looking down. She swirls the ice around in her glass, then takes a huge sip. “Just out of curiosity, does your uncle know I’m here?”

  “Nope. He didn’t even want me here, so I thought I’d leave that part out.”

  She nods, understanding.

  “We used to be close, you know. Max and I—we were inseparable.”

  “What happened?”

  Her eyes find mine. “You.”

  Here we go again. I’m always the scapegoat. The sole reason why her life never turned out quite the way it was supposed to. Big mistake asking that question. I look away and clench my jaw, trying my hardest to conceal how much that one hurt.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” she insists.

  “You never do,” I mutter bitterly.

  She moves in front of me so we’re standing face to face. “He didn’t approve of me giving you up. That’s what caused the rift. Not you. He tried to talk me out of it several times. Said I was making the wrong decision and I was more capable of raising a child than I was giving myself credit for. Deep down, I think he was scared of what would happen if he took you in. We both were.”

  I make eye contact and swallow, working up the courage to ask the one question I’ve been dying to ask for the last fourteen years. “Do you regret it?”

  She ponders that for a few beats. “Yes and no. I relinquished custody because at that moment in time, I truly believed that’s what was best for you. I couldn’t provide any stability. I was yanking you around from place to place, making us both miserable. Financially, we were strapped. Raising a kid felt like an impossible task. I had youth and ignorance working against me, not to mention all the emotional baggage from my trauma. But make no mistake; giving you up was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to endure. If you were to ask me whether I’d do it all over again knowing what I know now, I’m not sure I would. Either way, I’m pleased with how you’ve turned out. It makes me proud.”

  An unexpected jolt of anger races through me. Who does this woman think she is? She doesn’t get to be proud. She is not, nor will she ever be, a frontrunner in my success. And for her to insinuate otherwise is a bald-faced lie and a fucking insult to my intelligence. She wasn’t even around for half my childhood. And the half she was present for she was a passive participant, at best. Newsflash: bare minimum effort is what separates a donor from a true parent. As someone who’s the former, she needs to stop overstepping her bounds and behaving like a parent who put in all the work.

  “What’s going on with you lately? Why are you acting like this?”

  Her forehead creases. “What do you mean?”

  “Why are you so chill and secure all of a sudden? For years you’ve resented me and gone out of your way to break me down, convincing me that I was somehow responsible for ruining your life. And now you show up here with a warm and fuzzy attitude, telling me you’ve had a change of heart, and that maybe I wasn’t so bad after all. Surely you can understand my confusion?”

  She sets her iced tea on the counter and motions her head towards the living room. I stay put, trying to figure out what her angle is.

  “Come on, Eric.”

  Reluctantly, I follow. She takes a seat on the couch and pats the cushion next to her, inviting me to do the same. I waltz past her and opt for the ottoman instead. Too soon for family bonding. I plop down and stretch my legs out, crossing my feet at the ankles. We stare at each other, unblinking.

  “Remember the last time you came to visit me?”

  I nod, recalling the day I went there to tell her about Raven, and she was busy screwing some married guy.

  “After you said those things and stormed out, I reached a breaking point. I realized that I was sick of being unhappy and carrying all that pain around. I started seeing a therapist, and she’s been helping me deal with things I should’ve dealt with over twenty years ago.” She averts her gaze and shifts around awkwardly.

  I stiffen, preparing for what’s coming next. Neither one of us wants to broach the forbidden subject, but it’s long overdue. She deserves to be heard. And so do I.

  I wait patiently while she formulates her thoughts.

  Her eyes find mine again. The uncertainty that was there moments ago has been replaced with determination. “As you know, when I was a sophomore in high school, I was raped. It was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. Everything I thought I knew about trust and safety had been violated. My happiness, my sense of security, my self-worth...all of it was gone.” She pauses and swallows. “When you’re forced to endure something like that, it takes you to a very dark, desolate place. I didn’t tell anyone right away because I was afraid of what people might say. I was traumatized and I didn’t want to be judged on top of it. I knew all the kids at school would talk if given the chance, and I couldn’t face the prospect of people finding out. So I kept it quiet.

  “For a long time I blamed myself, unable to forget that if I hadn’t snuck out and gone to that party, it never would’ve happened. I imagined a thousand different scenarios where the outcome could’ve been different, but it just made everything that much harder to deal with. Harboring all that shame and turmoil arguably did just as much damage to me as the actual assault, but it felt like there was no one to turn to, no one to confide in. So I channeled all my pain into hating him. It was the only way I could survive and feel in cont
rol.

  “A few weeks later, I found out I was pregnant. Words can’t even begin to describe the level of sheer terror I experienced when that test came back positive. I thought my life was over.” Tears gradually begin to fall down her face. “I was too young to have a kid. I had no job, no money, no one to depend on, and no way out of this situation that someone else put me in without my consent. Eventually, I had no choice but to come clean and tell my parents. They immediately linked me up with a counselor, but it was too late. The damage had been done. Abortion seemed like the only viable option.”

  Those last seven words ring out loud and clear. I narrow my gaze and study her reaction. I don’t want to know this about her. It’s too painful. I don’t want to know that someone violated her in the worst possible way and left her with no other options. She wasn’t even old enough to smoke, vote, drink, or get a tattoo, but she was having a kid. A kid she never asked for and didn’t want. Believe it or not, I can sympathize. But on the same token, nobody asked me what I wanted. I didn’t choose to be born this way. And I never wanted to be someone else’s burden. She needs to realize that I was a victim, too. Before I can jump in and tell her that, she picks up where she left off.

  “I’d been saving up all my babysitting money and borrowing cash from friends to afford the procedure. Once I called the clinic and found out how much it would cost, they told me I needed parental consent because I was underage. I begged my parents to sign off, but they refused. That felt like the ultimate betrayal. The two people who I had idolized and depended on the most in this world had sealed my fate and left me to face this all alone. I hated them for it. We got into an explosive argument. I told them it was my body, my choice, and if they wouldn’t respect that, I was moving out. I ended up packing my bags and leaving the very same night.”

  “Have you talked to them since?” I ask.

  “Only when I have to.”

  “I owe them my life, you know,” I say, my tone sharp and accusatory. “They spoke up for me when I didn’t have a voice, which is more than you’ve ever done for me.”