When I Think of You

by Rosa Sophia

  “Now I don’t know what a healthy relationship is supposed to be like. And…” I glance around at the people in the room, all of whom are looking at me, listening closely to my every word. It almost makes me lose my courage to continue. “I…I fell in love with someone…I think. It happened over a year ago. I guess we might’ve been together if I hadn’t left Florida. It’s the strangest thing, but…we both dreamt of each other before we met. And now I think about him all the time, and I wonder if he thinks about me. But I don’t know what to do because…I always screw things up.” My voice breaks, and I take a deep breath, holding back my tears. “I feel like I’ll never be any good at a relationship, like I’d be better off alone. I…that’s all.”

  I can’t say anything more. I don’t have it in me. A deep silence pervades, until the group leader says, “Thank you for sharing, Nina.” A number of other people mutter the same thing, and a few ladies send me reassuring smiles.

  I know they mean well.

  I can’t help but think I’m no good. That’s why I’m here, in the ACA rooms. To get rid of that awful self-destructive voice, to become my own loving parent, to nurture my inner child. But a part of me is terrified I’ll fail the one person who matters most, the one person I cannot fail.

  I must not disappoint her. The little girl inside me is all I have left.

  ***

  I am going home.

  I remember when my mother used to chide me for making split-second decisions. Now I’ve decided to leave Kill Devil Hills and head back to South Florida. I think I decided it right there in that ACA meeting.

  I won’t make my Friday night meeting; I’ll be too busy getting ready to go.

  I call Jenny as I pace the length of my tiny living room. She answers on the fourth ring.

  “Hey, Nina, what’s up?”

  “You still have a spare bedroom in your apartment?” I ask, forgoing the pleasantries.

  “Yes…”

  “Can I move in?”

  “What?” She laughs loudly. “Really? I thought sure you’d stay at least another few months.”

  “What do you mean? You mean…” I stop walking and stare out the window. “You knew I’d go back?”

  “Sure I did. When you first left, you were so indecisive about the whole thing. You wanted to go, but you’d just met Wes. Remember what I said?”

  “Yeah. You told me to follow my heart, something like that.”

  “But we both agreed you should be careful since you didn’t know him that well,” she reminds me.

  “Well, this has nothing to do with him.”

  “The hell it doesn’t.”

  “Jenny!”

  “You can’t tell me that, I know it’s bullshit.”

  “Honestly, I feel like…like I was running. Mentally, not physically. Like I was running from Mom, and from my life, from everything. Even Wes.”

  “I know.” The words are heavy; Jenny knows about my fears, my terror of commitment.

  Whenever I think of dating anyone else, all I can do is picture them with a bottle in their hand, the cycle starting all over again. A long silence stretches out between us.

  “I’m so…so tired of being disappointed, Jenny.”

  “I know you are, hon. You know what I think?”

  “What?”

  “Maybe you need to come back home to resolve these issues. Put the past behind you for good. Come full circle.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  After a long talk with Jenny, I call my landlord and we discuss the lease. I’m not a very good liar, but somehow he falls for the story I concocted about my mother’s illness, and how I must return to Florida immediately to care for her. He breaks the lease, and I start packing my meager belongings.

  Some of my stuff is still back at my mother’s apartment; I didn’t take much to North Carolina, so I know I can pack the rest in my car. My savings will get me home, and I’ll worry about the rest later.

  Less than four days.

  I’m going home.

  Chapter 13

  At the bookstore, I tell my boss the news. I tell him the truth, not the lie I fed my landlord. He’s surprised, but he accepts it, even though I can’t give him a full two weeks’ notice. While I’m straightening a display on the counter, the bell at the front of the tiny store jingles softly.

  I glance up and see a familiar face.

  The woman is middle-aged, with light brown hair that appears to be dyed. It puffs outward, framing a round face and a chubby chin. Her body is pear-shaped, and she’s wearing a lilac blouse with blue jeans. She must’ve just gotten out of work, because she’s still wearing her nametag, which reads Maggie.

  I hadn’t taken time to read the nametag when I’d been at the thrift store. I was too busy succumbing to the fury rising within me when Maggie implied I was lying.

  I tell myself not to react, but my heartrate is already increasing as heat rises to my cheeks. This time, I am able to differentiate anger from embarrassment and realize I’m more ashamed of myself than anything else. Any time I get angry, it never goes well, and it seems to be worse for me than it is for anyone else. They forget about it, and I hold onto it, beating myself up for days and weeks at a time.

  I watch her as she looks around, and I’m waiting at the register when she brings a book up.

  “Hello!” Her straight white teeth are stained with light pink lipstick, and her brown eyes are wide with excitement. She taps the book she’s brought up, a Bill Crider mystery. “Oh, I just cannot believe you have this book. I love him. Have you ever read him?”

  “Uh…no.” Realizing she doesn’t recognize me, I’m almost disappointed. What had I expected, some kind of showdown, a verbal battle ending in her heartfelt apologies? “Is, uh…he’s real good, huh?”

  “Oh, yes. A wonderful mystery series set in Texas. Just wonderful. You ought to read him sometime.”

  I ring the book up and give her the total. She pays in cash, and I go through the motions, placing the book in a small plastic bag, sliding it across the counter.

  In that moment, I know exactly what to say to her. I react without thinking, meeting her gaze.

  “Have a beautiful day.”

  “Thank you,” she says. “You too!” She starts to turn away, her bag clutched in both hands, her purse over her shoulder. Then she stops. Looking back at me, she adds, “Do I know you from somewhere?”

  I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Well, you know what they say, we’ve all got a twin someplace!” She laughs, raising her hand in a wave, and steps out the front door.

  I stare after her in a daze. I think about that moment in the thrift store, how I’d lost my temper. She implied I was lying.

  Some things come to me in sudden realizations, a split second wherein I’ve learned something, I’ve become someone different. I have evolved somehow.

  It is in that moment I realize what I’ve been doing all along, for years and years. Maybe I knew it already, but it didn’t quite sink in until now.

  I’ve been lying, and that’s the truth.

  Lying to myself. About everything. About me.

  It has to stop.

  ***

  After work, I pick up my phone and dial. It rings so many times I almost hang up. A groggy voice finally answers.

  “He…hello?”

  “Lynn? It’s Nina.”

  “Who…Nina, who?”

  I shake my head as I lean against the kitchen counter. “You only worked beside me for years at the bookstore. Come on, what other Nina could you possibly know?” The conversation makes me chuckle, because I had a similar one with her less than a month before I moved to Kill Devil Hills, and I even mentioned it to her the last time we talked a week ago.

  “Oh!” she exclaims as recognition sinks in. “I’m so sorry. I was napping.”

  “Gee, this is sounding more and more familiar moment by moment,” I joke.

  “So it is,” she replies, as if recalling
the same conversation. “How are you? You never call, you never write—”

  “Aww, come on. We talked just the other day.”

  “You left me for another bookstore.”

  I can almost picture Lynn, probably lying back on her couch, wearing her pajamas. I imagine her curly blonde hair splayed across a pillow, her hand over her mouth as she yawns.

  “Well, listen, I’ll get right to the point so you can get back to your nap.” I take a deep breath, praying she’ll say yes. “Do you still need someone at the bookstore?”

  Her musical laughter fills my ears. “Well, yes! You’re coming back?”

  “Will you take me? Say you will.”

  “Well. You did cheat on us with another bookstore,” she teases.

  “Please?”

  “Of course, Nina. You might have to wait a bit, though. I need to get a few things sorted out.”

  “That’s okay, I have enough money to live on for at least a few weeks.”

  “Great. Call me when you get back into the area, okay?”

  “Then I’ll speak with you next week.”

  “Okay, Nina. In the meantime—”

  “Sweet dreams,” I interrupt.

  “Thank you, hon. Goodnight.”

  I hang up the phone and dance around my apartment, punching the air in excitement.

  Then I think of a conversation I had with my mom once, when nothing seemed to be going my way. I remember her words as clearly as if she’d just spoken them.

  “If things are too difficult, something’s wrong. When things are right, really right, they go well. They go smoothly. Remember that.”

  I remember.

  Suddenly, everything seems a thousand times easier. For the first time in my life, I want to be in South Florida. I really want it. And I can’t wait to go back.

  Chapter 14

  After I broke Brett’s heart, he seemed indifferent about it. I saw him a number of times afterward, and he was ambivalent, acting as if he didn’t care.

  Now I write him an email, and I choose each word with great care.

  Dear Brett,

  It has been so long since I’ve seen you, but Jenny tells me you’re doing well. I know she’s still friends with your cousin.

  I think about you a lot. I know you’re wondering why I’m writing you, so here goes.

  I’m sorry. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, and I realized you were right. Not saying anything can be lying too. Being silent, building walls. That can be just as dishonest as telling outright lies.

  I’ve been in ACA for a while now—that’s Adult Children of Alcoholics. It’s a Twelve-Step Program. I don’t have a sponsor, but I’ve been working the steps on my own, and sometimes every effort I make feels like I’m gouging out a piece of myself. I think that’s because I am. I’m digging out all the pain and hurt, exposing my true self, re-parenting my inner child.

  I know you knew everything about my mom, her alcoholism, but we didn’t talk about it. We didn’t talk about it because I was in denial. Brett, I don’t know why I went to her for advice. In the end, I went to her because I had no one else to go to. Dad died when I was little. Mom and I only had each other. I had no way of knowing her advice was wrong, and I didn’t know enough about healthy relationships to make a decision on my own. I didn’t realize what I was doing was wrong.

  I know that sounds stupid. After all, how can a person not realize cheating is wrong? I covered every action with excuses, and in the end those were lies. I’m still learning about relationships, still trying to figure out what’s healthy and what isn’t. I’m so afraid of those things—but that’s a story for another time.

  I just want to apologize to you. I am so sorry for hurting you, Brett.

  I loved you so much, and I still do. I want you to know I am working on healing, I am working on myself through the Program. I don’t follow it blindly, but I do consider everything I learn. I take what I like and leave the rest.

  Please keep in touch.

  Love,

  Nina

  It takes me forever to press the send button. Then I try to let go, so I can move on with my day and finish packing my things. A part of me hopes Brett will be proud of me one day. For some reason, I discover I’m seeking his approval more than anyone else’s.

  Maybe it’s because he’s the first man I fell in love with, the first whose heart I broke. More than anything, it’s probably because he didn’t deserve the pain. Neither of us did.

  That loving boy I met in my high school English class will always have a place in my heart, and there is no changing that.

  ***

  Roberta and I sit down and order our breakfast. Today, she isn’t saying much, and she stares out the window over the parking lot, her hands folded on the table before her.

  She isn’t wearing a knitted cap, or a knitted scarf, or anything her father made for her. Just a light jacket and a t-shirt beneath, her legs encased in jeans.

  Before I can ask her what’s wrong, she mumbles, “I’ll miss you, Nina.”

  “I’ll miss you too. But you can come visit me anytime.”

  “So, where are you moving to exactly?”

  “My friend Jenny has an apartment in Juno Beach. I’ll be taking the second bedroom.”

  Roberta’s eyes widen. “Wow. I wish I could afford my own apartment.”

  “You will. Jenny’s a bit luckier than most. Her family has money.” I sip my water, then slide my glass out of the way as the waitress brings our breakfast. “If it hadn’t been for Jenny, I might not have made it through high school.”

  “What do you mean?” Roberta picks up her fork and starts picking at her eggs and bacon.

  “Well, Jenny’s dad was the mayor of North Palm Beach at the time. And since Jenny and I were friends, if she was around then I didn’t get picked on. I was bullied real bad in school, but if she was there, I was usually safe.”

  “I know what that’s like.”

  Roberta has told me how she was treated in school, and it sounds a lot like the stories I share; we’d both been threatened, had our hair pulled, had food thrown at us. We were walking target practice.

  “I would’ve dropped out if it hadn’t been for Jenny,” I muse. “And I’m definitely glad I stayed, or I wouldn’t have met Brett.”

  “Brett?”

  “My high school sweetheart.”

  Roberta beams, her eyes lighting up. “Aww, that’s sweet.”

  “He was great.” I find myself bouncing in my seat, recalling the good times. I quickly sober. “But…I screwed up.”

  “How so?”

  “I cheated on him with Allen, the guy I mentioned at the last meeting.” I tell her about Mom, about the bad advice she gave me.

  “I’m sorry.” Roberta tilts her head to the side. “That’s so sad, about both you and your mom.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, she’s been through so much. Do you remember anything about your dad?”

  “Not a whole lot.” An ache passes through me.

  “Did they get along?”

  “I don’t know.” It occurs to me I don’t think about it much; maybe it’s something I need to work through. Maybe in order to truly heal, I need to figure out how my father fits into all this. Did I ever grieve for him, or did I just set those emotions aside in a half-hearted attempt to move on?

  “It sounds to me like your mom just doesn’t know what a healthy, loving relationship is like. So, she couldn’t teach you about it or give you the proper advice. I mean, you can’t give someone good advice on something you know nothing about.”

  We continue eating. But my mind is overflowing as I consider the impact of what Roberta just said. I sense some of my anger dissipating as I realize the truth in those words. Of course Mom couldn’t give me decent advice. I drop my fork, leaning back.

  “You okay?” Roberta asks.

  “Yeah.” I nod slowly. “Yes. Yes, I think I am.”

  Chapter 15

  A
path and boardwalk winds through Duck, along Currituck Sound. I love running here, occasionally stopping to admire the birds as they swoop low over the water. Early in the morning, I breathe deep and run slow, the cool air refreshing as it brushes against my face.

  The shops aren’t open yet, so there aren’t any tourists around, just a few people out to enjoy the sunrise. After my run, I sit on a bench on the boardwalk and enjoy the morning as it slowly warms up. Small signs of spring are beginning to arrive as the temperature steadily rises, and the heat of the sun is a welcome sensation on my skin. I slip my phone out of the pocket on my black running pants and scroll through my contacts list until I find my mother.

  It’s time we talked.

  The phone rings several times before she picks up.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” she says.

  “Hi, Mom. How are you?”

  “Good…Well.” She pauses, as if rethinking her reply. “I haven’t felt that well today, but it’s also pouring out.”

  “I know what you mean.” I squint under the light of the sun, knowing bad weather has always made my mother depressed. She says she can’t understand how anyone can put up with northern winters; she doesn’t have it in her to deal with darkness, and maybe that has something to do with her past. An overcast sky is like a mirror to the shadows in her heart.

  “How are you, Nina?”

  “I’m all right. I…I’m moving back.” I can’t believe I’m saying it, because I never thought I would. I vowed never to return to South Florida; it hasn’t been two years yet, and I am already on my way.

  I hear my mother gasp. “Really? Oh, I’ve missed you, Nina. You’re really coming home?”

  “Well, yes. Jenny has an extra room in her apartment, so I’ll live with her. I don’t know how I did it, but I managed to break my lease. I’m leaving at the end of the week.”