Summer Apart

by Amy Sparling

  My phone rings around six o’clock. I know if I don’t answer it then Park will either call back until I do answer, or most likely, he’ll show up at my door and inform me that my phone is broken. Because he wouldn’t believe for a second that Becca Sosa, his little Texan play thing, would ever purposely ignore his phone call. As much as it hurts, I know that’s all I am to him. I’m just the pathetic girl from Texas who he visits when he needs a break from hooking up with other girls.

  Thank god I never fully hooked up with him. If I had given my virginity to him, I’d be in much worse condition right now. I sure as hell wouldn’t be listening to Mumford and Sons while painting a canvas in my bedroom, sulking but trying to get over it like the strong woman that I know I can be.

  No, if I had given him my all, I would be a complete mess. A shudder rips through me at the mere thought of it. I guess if any good thing can come from this, it’s knowing that I still have my dignity and virginity intact. My heart is a complete mess, but I’m sure it’ll survive.

  With a sigh, I set down my paint brush and grab my phone on the fifth ring. “Hello?”

  “Hey!” It’s amazing how a voice that only hours ago would have made my insides light up and dance is now repulsive to my ears. “Are you hungry? I can come get you in about twenty minutes.”

  I pull the phone away from my ear and draw in a deep breath to calm myself. I exhale slowly and then say, “No, thanks.”

  “Fine, thirty minutes,” he says with a laugh. “But you don’t have to get all dressed up you know. You’re perfect in your pajamas. Although you probably shouldn’t wear them to get Italian food.”

  Ugh. Why doesn’t he get it? Can’t he hear the annoyance in my voice? “No, I meant I won’t be joining you for dinner. You go with Jace or something. I have to go now, Park—”

  “Wait,” he says, just like I knew he would. Park doesn’t accept it when he gets an answer he doesn’t want. “Why aren’t you coming to dinner? Is something wrong?”

  Yes something’s wrong! You’re a massive player! The words are on the tip of my tongue and I want to say them so badly, but I’m scared of the results. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just not hungry and I’m really busy over here. So maybe I’ll see you tomorrow or something.”

  He didn’t want me to know about his stupid California girlfriend so I’m going to pretend that I don’t. It’ll be a lot more powerful if he thinks I just suddenly lost interest in him. Maybe then he can spend forever wondering why he wasn’t good enough for me.

  Maybe then he’ll know a little of what it feels like to be rejected.

  Just like how I feel right now.

  Chapter 6

  An hour later, I’m still working on this same canvas, painting the pains of my heart onto it. My music pumps louder as I crank up the volume, making it as loud as my little laptop speakers can handle. I paint to the rhythm of the music, losing myself to its acoustic trance. This will be okay, I tell myself. Park is an asshole but I am strong and will continue to be strong. This will all be fine.

  I think I hear Mom call my name from down the hallway, so I yell back, “Yeah?” And then when she doesn’t answer, I call out again, thinking maybe I hadn’t heard her at all. “Mom?”

  My door opens as I continue working on my canvas. A figure appears, much too tall to be my mother. My paintbrush stops in mid-stroke. Dad isn’t home. Mom isn’t that tall. This can only mean one thing.

  “Sorry, I’m not your mom.”

  I wasn’t exactly expecting Park to show up, so the shock on my face is raw and unfailingly real. Dammit. I didn’t have time to prepare myself, to cover up my emotions and smile and act like everything is perfectly fine. As a quick recovery, I slap my hand over my chest and say, “Oh my god, you scared me!”

  “Sorry,” he says, looking as if he doesn’t quite buy my excuse. “Your mom yelled that I was here.” He walks over to my laptop and lowers the volume. “Guess you couldn’t hear it.”

  I shrug and turn back to my painting. My thoughts zip around my head in panic mode as I try desperately to think of some kind of excuse to get him out of my room and away from me for the rest of the day. Think, think, think.

  “Whoa,” Park says under his breath. I dab some more paint on my brush as I feel him approach me. The scent of his cologne used to make me woozy but now all I can think about his I wonder how many more women have smelled that same cologne on him?

  “What’s up with this painting?” He steps into place right beside me but I still don’t look over at him.

  “I’m just experimenting,” I say, swallowing the lump that forms in my throat. I’d been so busy painting and jamming to music, I hadn’t really taken the time to actually look at what I’d created. Where the canvas used to be solid white, it was now nearly completely black. I’d used a thin paint brush and black paint to write an inspirational saying on it at first, but then that quote sucked so I’d painted on top of it with another one.

  And then another one, and another one. And then I’d gone through every single quote in my quote journal, each one layering on top of the last one until none of them were readable and the only thing left was a frightening mixture of words that meant nothing. It’s as if all of the inspirational quotes in the world couldn’t help mend the pain in my heart.

  In fact, this canvas was perfect.

  He picks up a half-empty bag of cookies on the counter next to my paints. “I thought you weren’t hungry?” he says, tilting his head to the right as he examines me like I’m some kind of escaped mental patient.

  “I wasn’t,” I say before I have the mental capacity to filter it out. Technically, you don’t have to be hungry to eat away your feelings with cookies and ice cream, and oh god, how many fun sized candy bars had I consumed since our last phone call?

  Park sets down the cookie bag and folds his arms over his chest. His head tilts a little bit, his eyebrows lifting and his lips press into a flat line. In just one second, it’s as if the guy I used to know has transformed into a very pissed off father. “What the hell is going on, Becca? Why are you avoiding me?”

  Normally, I consider myself to be a pretty good person. I don’t make fun of the less fortunate and I always hold open the door for people and help old ladies reach items on the high shelves at the grocery store. I don’t disrespect my parents and I don’t use drugs or do anything else that’s illegal. And on top of that, I am a good and loyal friend.

  So why is my brain yelling at me right now, telling me to lie lie lie?

  Say you’re sick.

  Say your mom has been sick and you’re worried about her so you need to stay home take care of her.

  Say it’s that time of the month and cramps are killing you.

  A long stretch of silence accompanies me wrestling with my mind, trying to think of a believable lie to tell Park about why I’m avoiding him. He doesn’t wait long enough for me to figure it out.

  “Tell me what’s going on. You were fine earlier today. What happened?”

  The good news is that I make the split-second decision that I don’t want to lie. I don’t want to be that type of person who lies to get out of tough conversations. Of course I also wish I was the type of person who never got into tough conversations…but no one’s perfect.

  The bad news is what falls out of my mouth next. “Did you sleep with her?”

  “Who?” he says. He doesn’t even flinch. I can’t tell if that means he’s totally unaware of what I’m talking about or if he’s just an exceptionally good player.

  “You know who I’m talking about.” I’m pretty sure that nothing he says now will change how I feel, but now that I’ve gone and slipped up and admitted that I know about his other girlfriend, I might as well get some answers so I’m not wondering forever.

  His hands unfold from across his chest and fall to his sides. “I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been with Jace all day. I didn’t talk to any girls at all, besides you.”

  I let out an e
xasperated sigh and roll my eyes to the ceiling. “I don’t mean now, Park. I’m not stupid. I mean back in California. That blonde.”

  Confusion flickers across his face for a second before it morphs into understanding. “You looked up the motocross news,” he says with a slight nod. He smiles inwardly and shakes his head before looking back at me. “I didn’t sleep with that bitch.”

  “Is that what women are to you? Bitches?” My voice is stern and angry. But inside I’m feeling relief in knowing that he hasn’t slept with her. Of course that doesn’t mean he hasn’t slept with countless other girls since we met each other.

  “Some women are bitches. Not all of them.”

  “And some men are assholes,” I snap. “Like the kind who act all sweet when they visit you and then they go off and bang hot women at motocross races.”

  Despite the anger making my voice rise, he replies calmly. “I said I didn’t sleep with her. And seriously, who uses the word bang?” He snorts. My hands ball into fists and I actually think about throwing something at him. “This isn’t funny, Park. Why the hell are you laughing?”

  He holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m laughing because you’re way too upset about this. You saw an article online with some jacked up pictures that don’t even remotely show the truth and now you’re pissed without letting me explain.”

  I suck in a deep breath and gnaw on my bottom lip. “Then explain.”

  He picks up a dry paintbrush and flips it over in his hand. “Honestly, I don’t know why I should explain.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He takes a step closer, leaning over to place the paintbrush into the cup where I keep the rest of them. Then he straightens, placing both of his hands on my shoulders. “I didn’t have sex with that girl.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “No.”

  I lift my eyes to meet his. “And why don’t I believe you?”

  “Because you’re pissed off and you want more reasons to hate me.”

  “I don’t want reasons to hate you, Park.” I shake my head slowly. He doesn’t get it at all. “I want reasons to believe you.”

  “You’re going to believe what you want to, Becca. Nothing I say will change that. I promise I didn’t have sex with her and that article is wrong anyhow. I didn’t steal Jake’s girlfriend—they had been broken up for weeks. But you either believe me or you don’t.” He releases my shoulders and shoves his hands in his pockets. “And not to be an asshole or anything, but frankly, you can’t even get mad about this.”

  “What the hell does that mean? Of course I can get mad. I thought we had something, Park.” Oh, shit. Warm tears fill my vision and I blink them away, refusing to cry in front of him.

  “It means you can’t get mad at me dating other girls when you’re the reason I’m single. You rejected me, and you shouldn’t forget that.”

  “Seriously? So that’s how it is? I’m just some idiot girl you flirt with when you’re in Texas and I don’t mean shit to you? You don’t care enough about to me to stay away from other girls while we figure this out?”

  Park throws his arms in the air. This is the first time I’ve ever seen him look truly angry. “What the hell is there to figure out? You left me!”

  “I—I,” I stutter on like an idiot, totally unable to find the words to say. He’s right and I don’t want to admit it. I refuse to be wrong even though I know I am.

  “Look sweetheart—this is how it is. That’s who I am. I date around and it’s all meaningless. I tried telling you that when you first met me so why is it all my fault when you finally believe it? Why am I the asshole for doing only exactly what I told you I did?”

  His words make my stomach hurt. I blink back tears again and clench my jaw to stop it from quivering. “I just…I thought we had something special.”

  “We did. I would have given it all up for you, Becca. I tried doing that, if you’ll remember. I poured my heart out to you. I wanted to settle down with you. I only wanted you. And you told me no. Repeatedly, I might add.”

  There’s no way I’ll be able to stop myself from crying much longer. “You should leave,” I manage to say, before turning back to my canvas, doing my best to ignore him.

  “Fine,” he says quietly. “If that’s what you want.”

  I wait until the door closes behind him and then I burst into tears.

  Chapter 7

  Work is hell the next day. It’s a Saturday, which is always our busiest day but on top that, not five minutes after I arrive, I remember that we have four birthday parties scheduled for today. Lawson is a pretty boring town and there isn’t much to do around here, so of course the indoor BMX track where I work is the number one choice for most kids.

  Each party lasts two hours and I’m the one who has to set up the party room with whatever decorations the parents have selected, and then I serve ice cream and cake and put on my happy face for the kids. One party is bad enough but today I have to endure four of them? What could I have possibly done to deserve this?

  Yeah, I’d rather not answer that question.

  My boss Ollie brings me a donut and a coffee when he comes back from his morning trip to the bank and donut shop to get breakfast. I frown at the glazed donut in his hand. “I know, I know,” he says, shoving the donut at me. “They were all out of donut holes, dear. I’m sorry.”

  I stare at the pastry in disgust and then take a big bite out of it anyway. “It figures that they’d be out of donut holes today,” I mumble through a mouthful of food.

  Ollie removes his black framed glasses and cleans them on the hem of his t-shirt. “Why’s that?”

  I shrug and take another bite. “Because today is a bad luck day for me. There’s four birthday parties. Four!”

  “Oh come on, you love birthday parties.”

  “No, I don’t. I complain about them every weekend.”

  Ollie logs into the computer at the front desk and checks the schedule. “I know, but if I keep saying it, maybe you’ll start to believe it.”

  I roll my eyes and finish my donut, saving my coffee for last. Now that Braedon doesn’t work here anymore, I’ve taken over the front counter, making it my own. With Ollie’s permission, I’ve allowed local bands to tape up fliers of upcoming gigs on the front part of the counter. On the wall near the entryway is now a photo board where people are free to post BMX related pictures. I rest my elbows on the counter and stare at the photo wall.

  Memories flood into my mind. My brain tries to shut them down but they won’t stop, and soon I’m thinking back to the day I first showed Park the new photo wall. There were only about ten pictures taped on it, but all of the regular riders had liked the idea and promised that they’d bring in photos.

  “I like this one,” I had said, pointing to a photo of a guy named Max who would stop by the track every few months. He was lightning fast on a bike and he could dive into the half pipe and soar at least twice as high as even the most advanced regular riders. This photo was one I had taken of him last summer, while he was upside down and in mid-air on the half pipe. It’s almost as if he knew I was taking the picture because he looked right at the camera.

  Instead of admiring the photo, Park had said, “So it’s like social media but in real life and not on a computer.” He made a thumbs up sign with his hand and punched it to the photo. In a robot voice, he said, “I like this. Becca likes it, too. Two people like this photo.”

  “Oh my god, you are so stupid,” I said. What he did next is the reason the memory is so clear in my mind. He took my hand and spun me around until my back was pressed against the photo wall. Then, so quickly I didn’t have time to object even though we were in a public place and I was technically on the clock, Park pressed his lips into mine, wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close to his chest, kissing me harder than he ever had.

  When he kiss ended, he left me dizzy and desperate for more. His forehead leaned down and touched mine. “I’m going to miss you like crazy when I leave
,” he had whispered.

  At that moment, the sliding glass doors burst open for two new customers and Park and I scattered away from each other to avoid making me look unprofessional at work. The new arrivals were two older guys who had never visited C&C BMX Park before, so I had to endure the grueling task of signing up a new member and then listing all of the rules and showing them around the place. All while my body ached for more of Park and my skin tingled where he had grasped me.

  It was hell.

  I swallow and pull my gaze away from the photo wall. That picture of Max is still there, surrounded by dozens of new additions. The photo wall has morphed into a massive mural of various personal BMX achievements and people always love looking at it and adding more to it. But right now, the memory of Park is the last freaking thing I need when I have to face a full day of work ahead of me.

  My fists clench together and I think seriously about stalking over to that stupid wall and tearing down every single photo on it. Then, for good measure, I could knock the damn wall down and let it be an open hole to the outside, where nothing remains to remind me of Park.

  Of course, then I’d just remember that the massive hole in the wall was created because of my heartache over Park so that would never work. Also, my boss would murder me if I destroyed the building. So it looks like I’ll have to deal with my heartache the old fashioned way—by shoving it deep down into the depths of my heart and pretending it doesn’t exist.

  Chapter 8

  I punch out of work at nine and even though most of the down is dead by now, I’m still wide awake. Something about having a heart that won’t stop aching for someone you know who can’t date, will do that to you. Yeah, trust me I know it’s pathetic to pine after Park so much but I just can’t help it. He was so perfect in every possible way except one – his address.

  And, well, his self-proclaimed reputation for being a player. But that’s a part of Park I like to pretend doesn’t exist. I glance at my reflection in the rear-view mirror of my car and I’m all day-old makeup and messy pony tail and it’s gross, it truly is. I am nothing like the blonde girl in a tight dress and the sad thing is that I never will be. I’m just Becca, a small-town girl from Texas, who made the fatal mistake of falling for a Californian celebrity.